The Book of Unwyse Magic, page 11
“Any advice, Book?” she asked.
A few pale words appeared. Don’t go through strange doors.
Not exactly useful.
Matthew pulled his tie straight. “We’ll be fine. We have to carry on as normal or people will wonder.”
Ava didn’t care if people wondered. “I’ll go to work. You stay here.”
“And have Lord Skinner come here looking for me?” Matthew put his hands on Ava’s shoulders and gazed down at her, his face serious. “I’ll be careful, I promise.” He turned to Lunette, his expression softening. “I’m sorry we have to leave you. Stay in the house, don’t answer the door for anyone, and we’ll return as soon as we can.”
Lunette nodded. Unlike Howell, she didn’t appear too worried, or maybe she was just covering it up better. “We’ll be fine,” she said. She put a gray top hat on Matthew’s head. “A protection hat. It will help a little.”
“And whatever Lord Skinner says, remember to believe the opposite,” Ava warned.
* * *
Outside, mist swallowed up the pale sunshine, turning the garden into a chilly gray blur, and the air smelled like burned toast. Only a few people were out and they all seemed on edge, hurrying on by with their heads down. A few times Ava heard rustlings in hedges, and as they passed one house, she heard a lady screaming about fairies stealing the cheese.
Ava arrived at the Footers’ house late and out of breath, wondering whether Mr. Footer would let her in. She needn’t have worried, because she found the front door open. Three women were giving their sympathies to Mr. Footer in the parlor while another two argued over casseroles in the kitchen. Ava hadn’t realized her cousin was so popular. None of them paid any attention as Ava crept past. She was going to have to wait to speak to Mr. Footer.
The thought made her heart bump nervously because she knew exactly what she was going to do while she was waiting. Stepping carefully and hoping no one would hear her, she crept up the stairs to the room she’d been forbidden ever to enter: Mr. Footer’s study.
The murmur of voices continued downstairs.
Don’t go through strange doors, The Book had said. Ava smoothed down her apron and straightened her shoulders. She was The Book’s guardian, not its servant. She didn’t have to do everything it said. Holding her breath, she pushed the study door open.
The room didn’t look that much different from her father’s study back home. A selection of comfortable chairs stood by one wall. Bookshelves. A desk, overflowing with papers, under the window, where a faint haze of mist drifted. And, against the opposite wall, a large, elaborately carved cabinet that looked awkwardly out of place, its doors closed, a key in the burnished lock.
Ava’s heart beat faster.
Father’s mirror: It had to be. She walked across to the cabinet and gripped the key. It felt warm, as if someone had handled it recently. Ava started to turn it and paused. This was a proper, licensed working mirror, she thought, which meant its pair was in the Mirror Station in Unwyse. If she tried to use it, she knew she might find herself face-to-face with Mr. Bones.
She stood for a moment, her fingers still on the key, then, slowly, she let her hand fall. Coward, she chided herself silently.
She stepped back and went to the desk instead. It looked like Mr. Footer never tidied up after himself: empty envelopes, letters, and bills all lay together. Ava started sorting through them, her hands still trembling slightly. Requests for private audiences, a letter of complaint from one family who’d ordered an enchanted puppy and hadn’t expected it to turn into a pile of twigs after a week.
Then Ava recognized the precisely curved handwriting of Lord Skinner on an envelope.
She stopped, finding it hard to breathe. The mist that still crept through the window smelled of damp leaves.
Orders for Unwyse, she read. Mr. Footer, at the stroke of midnight, when everyone is asleep, you will unlock your mirror and summon your fairy servant. When she appears, instruct her to make sure no one is listening. Then, when she confirms that this is done, please read the following paragraph.
The following paragraph was brief. Say: “Mr. Bones is looking for something. Find out what it is. Do not tell anyone what you are doing—especially not Mr. Bones. You are ordered to keep this a secret. I will contact you again this time next week for your news.”
Ava turned the paper over.
Your fairy servant will agree. Open your mirror again exactly one week from that time and write down what she says. Needless to say, this is a private matter and must be kept between the two of us. Destroy this letter once you have carried out the instructions.
Ava rested both hands on the desk, her head swimming. Lord Skinner was using Mr. Footer to spy on Unwyse. Somehow, she wasn’t surprised, but why do it in such a complicated fashion? And, clearly Mr. Footer had disobeyed Lord Skinner’s instruction to destroy the letter. Why was that?
Ava searched through the rest of the papers and found more letters from him. Some asked for general news about Unwyse, but most of them mentioned Mr. Bones. Then Ava unfolded the last one, right at the bottom of the pile. Underneath the usual instructions about secrecy, two sentences stood out.
Ten years ago, an enchantment was cast, magic taken from a boy. What happened to him?
Ava froze, holding the paper in her hand. She heard a door open downstairs. Voices and then silence. Still, Ava didn’t move.
A boy—Howell. It had to be. Magic taken from a boy, but Howell said he didn’t have any magic.
“What in blazes are you doing?” a voice demanded from the door.
Ava stuffed the paper into her apron pocket and spun around, hot embarrassment flooding her cheeks.
She’d never seen Mr. Footer angry before. “My mother told you never to come in this room,” he said, his mustache quivering. “She hasn’t been gone a day and you’re already snooping.”
“I’m not snooping, I’m cleaning.” Ava tried to straighten the heap of letters behind her without him noticing. “Mr. Footer, I know where your mother is. She was accidentally enchanted. You saw her—the dog.”
Mr. Footer’s face turned crimson. “I know how fairy magic works, and it can’t turn people into dogs. Get out.”
“No,” Ava said. She gripped the desk, surprised by her own boldness. Mr. Footer goggled at her.
“Lord Skinner was using you to send secret messages to Unwyse,” Ava said. “Why did you keep the letters? Did you forget to get rid of them? Or did you want to keep them as evidence—because, if you think about it really hard, you know Lord Skinner isn’t really a fine gentleman?”
Something inside her hoped Mr. Footer would suddenly see the truth, but she should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.
“Just who do you think you are?” he barked. “Coming into my house and going through my private things.”
A stair creaked outside. “Mr. Footer? Is everything all right?”
“Yes, perfectly fine, thank you.” He turned back to Ava. “You can take your things and leave,” he said. His voice was low and trembling. “And tell your brother that this is my house now, and neither of you are welcome in it.”
CHAPTER 20
In the souvenir shop, a family of china mice come to life as mist curls around them. They scamper blindly from shelf to shelf as women screech, then one of them falls off and smashes on the floor.
Still not listening? Maybe you’ll pay attention to this …
—The Book
Will Gosling, chief apprentice at the House of Forgotten Mirrors, slouched through the streets on his way to work. He’d been away since Saturday evening. After the argument with Howell Fletcher on Saturday, Will hadn’t felt like staying. He’d gone home for a bit, and then when his mother had shooed him out, he’d hung about with friends. Nobody came looking for him, which was fine at first, but slowly his annoyance grew. Didn’t Master Tudur even care where he was? Or had Howell made up some story to get him into even more trouble?
Now it was Monday morning and he couldn’t put off going back to work any longer. He dragged along the roads, inventing new arguments to start with Howell, new ways of making him sorry.
He shoved through the doors of the House of Forgotten Mirrors and stopped dead.
A station guard in a red uniform sat at the front desk. All around, sheets hung in crumpled folds over the many mirrors, as if they’d all been pulled off and replaced too hastily. And the mist. It crawled in thick folds across the floor, changing color from gray to red to bright silver. All of it creeping toward one mirror that stood shrouded like all the rest, but the sheet moved gently in and out, almost as if something behind it was breathing.
“What’s going on?” Will asked.
A dry, thin voice answered him. “Are you Will Gosling?”
Will yelped.
Mr. Bones stepped out of the doorway that led upstairs.
Will stumbled backward, bumping against the door, his hammering heartbeat sending pulses of hot color to his cheeks.
“Come here,” Mr. Bones ordered.
Will considered running, but something in Mr. Bones’s voice compelled him forward.
Mr. Bones peeled off his gloves, then removed his hat, and put the gloves neatly inside. The whole thing took him about half a minute. “Will Gosling, are you loyal to Unwyse?” he asked.
Will felt sweat trickling down his back. He couldn’t take his eyes off the empty gloves dangling their fingers over the brim. He tried to speak, but his voice had dried up completely. All he could manage was a faint squeak and a jerky nod.
It seemed to be enough to satisfy Mr. Bones, who nodded in return. “We are investigating a recent sabotage attempt by anti-humanists. Master Tudur has been arrested. Your fellow apprentice—Howell Fletcher, I believe?—has fled. Have you seen him?”
Will shook his head dumbly. “I haven’t seen Howell since Saturday. I thought he was here.” His legs began to shake. Master Tudur arrested? Howell wanted for sabotage? Will pictured himself dragged off to Waxing Gibbous as a traitor, and more sweat cascaded down his back.
“I’m not an anti-humanist,” he gulped. “I’m loyal to Unwyse. I don’t know about Master Tudur, but I’ve never liked Howell Fletcher. He was always sneaking out when he should have been working.”
Mr. Bones ran his fingers around the brim of his hat. “Very well, Will Gosling. This is what will happen. You will go upstairs to your bed and pull your blanket over your head. You will stay there until called. Then you will keep watch here. If any of these mirrors shows signs of life, or if Howell Fletcher comes back, you will report it straight away to the station guards. But not that mirror.” He pointed to the one surrounded by mist. “You will stay well away from that one. Do not touch it, do not even look at it. Especially do not look at it. Do you understand?”
Will slumped against the counter, giddy with relief. He didn’t understand what was going on, only that he wasn’t going to be arrested.
“Do you have any paper?” Mr. Bones asked.
Will nodded and clumsily pulled a sheet out of the desk drawer. Mr. Bones wrote a single word on it. “You can put that in the window,” he said, handing it to Will.
Will read it, his mouth bone-dry.
One word: CLOSED.
CHAPTER 21
If you’re reading in bed, by the way, you should stop now. You don’t want to give yourself nightmares. Or maybe you do—what do I know?
—The Book
Matthew walked to Waning Crescent with a new sense of purpose on Monday morning. Mist clung to him, covering his coat with shimmering droplets, and the summer morning was quite unseasonably chilly, more like November than July.
The road lay quiet beneath ribbons of yellow mist. The iron gates at the end of the crescent stood open and the enchantments on the white stone buildings had an eerie glow. Matthew slowed, and for one moment he even considered turning around and running back home.
Ava’s voice mocked him. Where’s your sense of adventure, Matthew?
Matthew remembered all the times he’d said that to her while he’d stood by to see what would happen. He’d talked of adventure, but he’d never meant anything by it. Like a plain china jug enchanted to look like it was made of gold, he could put on a good show, but underneath it all he was dull, and, he suspected now, not especially brave.
He curled his hands into fists. Brave or not, he had to do this. He ran up the steps to the doors of Waning Crescent and rang the bell.
Lord Skinner opened the doors so quickly he must have been waiting behind them.
“Mr. Harcourt. You’re late.”
Matthew’s thoughts scattered. He put a hand to his mouth and coughed. “I apologize. I have the beginnings of a summer cold.” The many mirrors reflected his face, looking paler with each second.
“You certainly don’t look well,” Lord Skinner agreed. “You should come and sit down. Take off your hat. I’ll order you some tea.”
He led the way along the hall. Matthew noticed again how Lord Skinner looked straight ahead as he strode past the mirrors, almost as if he was afraid of seeing himself in them.
“Why do you keep these mirrors?” Matthew asked. “Couldn’t you put them in storage?”
“I could. But what if one of them unexpectedly came to life, Mr. Harcourt, and I didn’t see it?” Lord Skinner turned suddenly to face him. “What then?”
Matthew swayed. The hall blurred, the air suddenly smelling of must and old leaves. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head in an effort to clear it. Lord Skinner is not a fine gentleman, he told himself.
He put a hand to Lunette’s hat and his vision cleared. “Now, look here, Lord Skinner,” he said, and he was pleased to note his voice wobbled only very slightly. “I want to know what’s going on. Who are you really, and what are you doing with these mirrors? I want to know the truth.”
Lord Skinner’s faded eyes glittered menacingly. “Are you sure about that, Mr. Harcourt? I spent most of Saturday night convincing Mr. Footer not to use his mirror. This morning I must talk to the rest of the conjurers, and then the rest of the town, no doubt. We are in the middle of a magical crisis, and I have to fix it. And now you come demanding answers, too.”
Matthew took a step backward. “On second thought, I think I should go home.”
“Don’t you know it’s bad manners to wear a hat indoors?” Lord Skinner said. He reached out, and before Matthew could stop him, he plucked the hat from Matthew’s head. Matthew’s vision swam again. That smell. He gasped.
“You don’t look well at all, Mr. Harcourt,” Lord Skinner said, his voice suddenly sharp-edged. “Why don’t you come and sit down, and tell me everything you know?”
Matthew nodded and groped his way along the wall. He really did need to sit down.
* * *
“Some tea, Mr. Harcourt.”
Matthew groaned and opened his eyes. He was sitting in his chair at his desk at Waning Crescent. Lord Skinner bent over him, holding out a china cup. “What happened?” Matthew asked. His head throbbed with a sick ache.
“You were taken ill,” Lord Skinner said. “You’re feeling much better now.”
Matthew’s head began to clear. He took the tea and choked down a mouthful. Something had happened, he was sure of it. Why couldn’t he remember?
Lord Skinner stood back. “Don’t worry, Mr. Harcourt. There’s been a little trouble, but I’m taking care of it.” He checked his pocket watch. “Speaking of which, I’m overdue for a meeting. You should stay here and rest. I’ll ask one of the servants to look in on you.”
Matthew tried to stand up, but his legs wouldn’t hold him. “Where is Ava?” He had some dreadful feeling she was in trouble, but he couldn’t think how or why.
“I’ll take care of your sister,” Lord Skinner promised with an odd smile. “No doubt she’ll join us here soon.” He went to the door. “Please wait here, and don’t worry.”
Matthew slumped back in his chair. Thank goodness Lord Skinner was here. He’d take care of everything. He was a fine gentleman.
CHAPTER 22
Don’t walk through strange doors. Don’t walk in the mist. Don’t walk alone. Please note, fairy magic is not guaranteed to work as expected. Your level of personal danger may go up as well as down.
—The Book
Ava slammed the front door of the Footers’ house behind her. “Lord Skinner is not a fine gentleman!” she shouted. The letter she’d stolen from Mr. Footer’s desk crinkled accusingly in her pocket.
An enchantment was cast, magic taken. She didn’t know what it meant, but a feeling settled over her as if she’d swallowed a block of ice. She glared at the Footers’ door again, then she stamped down the path and slammed the garden gate, too.
The mist floated restlessly, smelling of oranges and lemons. A cat dashed across the road, chased by a blackbird. On the main street, the Wyse Emporium was closed, a notice in the window apologizing for “unforeseen circumstances.” A family emerged from another shop in a rush. “You don’t want to go in there,” the man said to Ava. “The teapots started singing and then attacked us.”
Ava looked into the shop. The floor was covered with broken china and the shop boy was staring at it all, looking like he was waking from a bad dream. “We’re closing,” he said. “Everyone is. Lord Skinner’s orders.”
Ava backed out quickly. Mist swirled in her face, making it impossible to see properly. But then, as she hurried away from the shop, she heard a faint sound. The back of her neck prickled.
Someone is watching me, she thought. She turned quickly, but couldn’t see anyone. The angry family had already gone into another shop, no doubt to tell everyone about their teapot ordeal. There was no one out here but Ava herself.
Was that the crunch of a footstep?
Ava tensed. “I know you’re there,” she said loudly, hoping no one would answer. Nobody did, but her breath continued to thud in and out of her chest. A shower of leaves fell on her bonnet and she cried out in fright. The leaves turned into feathers, then melted into mist.
