The Book of Unwyse Magic, page 5
“What about Mr. Bones?” Howell asked. Surely Mr. Bones must have seen the Human World. But Luel shook his head again.
“I’ve never even seen Mr. Bones look at a mirror. It really is just a case of taking orders from humans.”
“Oh.” Somehow, Howell had imagined life at the Mirror Station would be more exciting than this. “What about the anti-humanists? I heard they were causing trouble.”
“They do, now and then. Mainly they just stand outside and shout and we ignore them.” He tugged his jacket straight importantly. “Don’t tell Mr. Bones I told you this, but everyone here thinks these mirrors are going to die one day, with or without the anti-humanists’ help. All the others have, haven’t they? And when these ones do, it won’t matter about the covenant with their world—the humans won’t be able to make any more demands of us.”
Howell’s jaw dropped. “But, if there are no mirrors…” He trailed off. That would mean no Mirror Station, no Waxing Gibbous, no need for Mr. Bones. Howell swallowed nervously. “What do you think of Mr. Bones?” he asked. “Do you like him?”
Something in Luel’s expression froze: a quick look of fear that just as quickly vanished. “He’s fine,” he said. “A gentleman.” He glanced over his shoulder as if he expected Mr. Bones to appear behind him there and then. “Stay on the right side of him and you’ll do well.”
And if he strayed onto the wrong side? Howell nodded. “I ought to get back before I’m missed.” The words felt thick in his mouth. “Thanks for showing me around.”
He cast a last look back at the mirrors. Another one was turning misty, its operator opening a notepad in readiness.
* * *
Howell left the Mirror Station in a daze. Six working mirrors, keeping the whole great factory of Waxing Gibbous running. It seemed a precariously small number, all of a sudden. Their connection with the Human world was hanging by a thread and nobody seemed to question it. Or perhaps they were afraid to.
He began to shove his way through the crowd. No one got out of his way now. A few people shouted at him as he squeezed past.
Then a hand caught his arm. “Howell, remember number seventy-seven,” a voice said.
Howell turned and let out a yelp of panic. It was the lady with pink hair—the anti-humanist!
Howell backed away rapidly. “How do you know my name?” Where was Mr. Bones? He needed to report this.
The anti-humanist shook her head. “You’re in grave danger. Don’t trust Mr. Bones, and remember number seventy-seven.”
Then she was gone, disappearing into the crowded square.
Howell stood, his feet stuck to the spot. Why would an anti-humanist risk coming to the Mirror Station to warn him?
Someone elbowed him. “Sorry,” Howell said, and moved aside. Then, because he couldn’t decide what to do next, he made his way home.
* * *
The House of Forgotten Mirrors was empty. Good—the last thing Howell wanted was questions from Master Tudur or Will about where he’d gone. He fetched a cloth and polish and started to clean the mirrors, his face creased by a troubled frown. He wished he knew what to think.
Remember number seventy-seven.
It was only a number. It could mean anything, or nothing at all. But, leaving the mirror he was cleaning, Howell strode across the gallery and jerked the sheet off number seventy-seven.
The glass showed only his own face and the gallery behind him. All perfectly normal. Howell laughed shakily, his breath misting the mirror, and began wiping down the glass.
For some reason, the patch of mist where he’d breathed on the glass wouldn’t clear—instead, it seemed to be spreading. Howell rubbed it harder.
Then, in a blink, the mirror cleared. The cloth fell from Howell’s hand, forgotten.
In a glass that had never done anything but reflect Howell’s own face, he now saw a different face. A girl, with dark hair escaping from a gray headscarf and a mark on her cheek like the setting moon.
CHAPTER 7
Britain in 1852 no longer needs magic. Britain rules the waves very nicely without it. Industry is the new magic: factories and machines and engines. What’s the point of a fairy enchantment that fades when you can have something made that will last for years?
It’s a sad world that has outgrown its need for magic, but what do I know? As I think I might have mentioned, I’m only a book.
—The Book
Ava had been cleaning the front parlor, glad the day was almost over, glad it was Saturday and she’d have tomorrow off. This week felt like it had gone on forever, with Mrs. Footer snapping at her all day long, and Lord Skinner watching her each night over the dining table.
He’s a fine gentleman.
The words slid into her head and Ava shook them away. She looked up and caught her reflection in the long mirror, and her heart sank a little lower. She seemed like a different person in her gray dress and white apron, her hair tucked up into a cotton headscarf. Only the mark on her cheek remained the same.
Ava walked defiantly to the mirror. She wasn’t going to clean houses forever. She was more than just a housemaid, whatever the Footers thought of her. Her reflection turned misty where her breath clouded the glass.
Poor mirror, Ava thought. It should be a doorway to the Unworld. Instead, it hung all alone, with nothing to do but impress Mrs. Footer’s horrible friends.
The patch of mist on the glass spread. Then, before Ava could react, the mirror cleared and she wasn’t looking at her reflection anymore. A boy stared out of the mirror at her. A boy with green hair and pointed ears and eyes with enormous dark pupils, looking completely terrified.
Ava froze. She could hear the cook still clattering pans in the kitchen. People walked past on the street outside, their voices drifting into the room. The world carried on exactly the same around her while, impossibly, a fairy boy stared back at her from behind a mirror.
If he doesn’t blink, his eyes are going to get stuck, Ava thought, and then she realized that she hadn’t blinked all this time, either. She drew in a breath and shut her eyes briefly, afraid he’d vanish the moment she stopped looking at him.
But he was still there. Ava smiled tentatively, her heart hammering. “Hello?” Could he even hear her?
The boy made up for all the staring by blinking rapidly several times. “Uh, hello.”
That answered her question. Ava wasn’t sure what to say next.
“Are you a fairy?” she asked. Stupid. Of course he was.
The fairy boy flashed a frown. “No. I’m one of the Fair Folk. How would you like it if we called you humanies?”
It wasn’t particularly funny, but Ava had the urge to giggle. “I suppose I wouldn’t like it. Sorry.” She glanced back at the door to make sure it was shut. The last thing she wanted was Mrs. Footer walking in on her now.
The boy turned and looked behind him as if he, too, was checking if he was alone. “This shouldn’t be happening,” he said. “This mirror hasn’t worked for a hundred years. Something very strange is going on.”
“Yes, I’d noticed.” Ava touched the edge of the mirror frame, afraid that whatever magic had made the mirror work would disappear just as suddenly. “I’m Ava Harcourt. From Wyse.”
“Howell Fletcher from Unwyse,” the boy said, tugging at a stray thread on his shirt. “How did you make the mirror work?”
“I didn’t. I was just looking at it.” Ava rubbed her hand across her cheek. “You must have done something.”
“Me? I was just cleaning it. I don’t suppose you’ve seen a lady in a big hat, have you? Or Mr. Bones?”
Ava shook her head. “Who is Mr. Bones?”
Howell blinked a few extra times. “You don’t know Mr. Bones? He rules Unwyse. He owns the Mirror Station and Waxing Gibbous. Everyone knows him.”
Ava wondered what the Mirror Station and Waxing Gibbous were. “Everyone on your side of the mirror knows him, maybe,” she said. “But not here.” She tried to remember what was written in the Freedom for Fair Folk leaflet Charles had given her. “Is Unwyse an actual, real place? You don’t live in the mirrors, like reflections?”
Now Howell looked at her as if he thought she was mad. “You do know that reflections aren’t alive, right? Otherwise they’d be able to move around and talk back to you.”
Ava felt a flush crawl up her face. “There’s no need to be rude. How am I supposed to know how mirrors work? I’m not a conjurer.”
“Sorry,” Howell said, but his lips twitched with laughter. He ran a hand through his green hair. “Magic mirrors act as doors between our worlds. The mirrors on your side open into our Mirror Station and the mirror operators take your orders, which are fulfilled at Waxing Gibbous. And mirrors that don’t work are stored in the House of Forgotten Mirrors, which is where I am now.”
Ava didn’t want to admit she had no idea what he was talking about. “I’m in my cousin’s house,” she said. “He’s the conjurer, but this isn’t the mirror he uses. I’m not sure he really understands much about magic.”
Howell scratched behind one pointed ear. “As I said, something very strange is happening.”
Lord Skinner. Ava knew there was something odd about him. He had placed Ava with the Footers; he’d given them the mirror. Could he be behind this?
“I think…,” Ava began, and broke off as she heard a door open in the hallway, and Mrs. Footer barking her name. She groaned. “I have to go. Can we talk again?”
“I suppose, if the mirror works. Tomorrow?”
Ava almost nodded, but caught herself. Tomorrow was Sunday. “Monday,” she said. “I’ll be here between five and six o’clock. Is that the same time in Unwyse?”
“It’s nearly six here now, so I guess so. I’ll watch for you.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” Ava added. If word got back to the Footers, they’d never let her near the mirror again.
“See you Monday,” Howell said. He bent and picked up a sheet from the floor on his side of the mirror. For a second, he held it, then reached up and the glass turned white. A moment later, the mirror cleared and showed Ava’s own reflection again. Her cheeks were pink, the crescent-shaped mark standing out sharply.
Where’s your sense of adventure, Ava?
She opened the door and stepped into the hall. “Mrs. Footer,” she said, “I was wondering about your new mirror. When did Lord Skinner give it to you?”
“A few weeks ago. As a matter of fact, he offered it to us as thanks for taking you on, and just as well he did, as you’ve not proved worth your wages so far. Go and help in the kitchen if you’ve finished cleaning.”
She doesn’t know the mirror is working, Ava thought, and just for a moment relief flooded her. She cast a final look back at the mirror as she left the room.
Stay away from mirrors, Ava. Don’t trust Lord Skinner. He’s not what he seems.
The truth is in the details.
Something very strange is happening.
The thoughts kept circling Ava’s mind until it was time to leave the Footers’ house.
* * *
Ava knew she ought to go straight home after work, but she needed time to think and the evening was bright. She walked to the town center and wandered slowly, studying the various enchantments on the buildings. She could see where some of them were fading and turning patchy, revealing the red brick underneath. Lamps started to come on along the road by the theater, globes of enchanted light, some of them shining brightly while others were dull, streaked with dirty brown.
“That’s the problem with fairy magic,” a boy’s voice said. “It doesn’t last.”
Ava turned to see Charles Brunel holding an empty bread basket. “Gas would be far better,” he said, nodding at a lamp. “It’s clean, it’s easy, and you don’t need to make people work for nothing. Nice to see you again, by the way.”
Ava nodded, though she wasn’t sure whether she was pleased to see him or not. She didn’t much feel like talking to anyone right now. On the other hand, Charles probably knew as much about Fair Folk as anyone in Wyse.
“Why do the Fair Folk work for nothing?” she asked. “Couldn’t they just say no?”
“For a conjurer’s daughter, you really don’t know a lot about magic, do you? It’s because of the covenant.”
Ava almost retorted that her father hadn’t talked much about magic and now that he’d passed away, she could hardly ask him. But none of that was Charles’s fault. She paused, then asked: “What’s the covenant?”
Charles set his basket down and wiped his hands on his trousers. “There’s an old story that the Fair Folk used to live here, but one day they left, and they took all the magic with them. But, as a parting gift, they gave us the mirrors and they made a covenant with us that we could access their magic when we needed it. Only, instead of keeping it for when we really needed magic, we started demanding enchantments and charms and treating the Fair Folk like slaves. That might even be why the mirrors stopped working—we misused them.”
Ava thought of Howell gazing back at her through a mirror that shouldn’t have been working. She almost blurted it out.
“It’s only a story,” Charles said. “It might be completely made up for all I know.”
Something about it felt right, though, as if Ava had heard the story many times before. Maybe her father used to tell it to her.
“How are you getting on with the Footers?” Charles asked. “Not very well, I’d guess.”
Ava tucked a strand of hair back inside her bonnet. “What makes you think that?”
Charles gestured at her hands. “You’re covered in dust. You didn’t even take a minute to wash before leaving. That suggests you couldn’t wait to escape.” He grinned. “And also, Mrs. Footer is horrible. Some people say her husband died just to get away from her.” His smile quickly faded. “I’m sorry. That was thoughtless.”
“Why? Because my parents died?” At least he wasn’t trying to pretend it hadn’t happened. Ava glanced back up at the failing street lamp. Its light was almost all brown now, and she could make out the shapes of leaves inside the glass globe. If Mrs. Footer caught her talking to a boy on the street, she’d probably sack her on the spot, but Ava didn’t care. “Tell me more about the covenant,” she said. “What happens if it breaks?”
“All the magic comes back here and the Unworld ends. Or something like that.” Charles bent to pick up his basket. “You should come to the Freedom for Fair Folk meeting. Every Thursday at Number Two Church Street. You can come for tea first, if you like.”
His smile was hopeful, and Ava got the impression that Freedom for Fair Folk rarely got new members. “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll think about it.”
“And if you need help with anything, just come and ask,” Charles said. “If the Footers get to be too much for you, or you want to know anything else about Lord Skinner. What did you think of him?”
He’s a fine gentleman. The words were right there in her head. “I’m not sure,” she said slowly. “He’s … odd.”
“Told you.” Charles nodded eagerly. “Did you notice the smell? No one else seems to.”
Ava nodded. “Like damp leaves and moldy bread.” She shuddered, remembering. “Matthew likes him, although he says he doesn’t know why Lord Skinner employs him, as there’s hardly any work to do. And I found out Lord Skinner gave the Footers a mirror from Waning Crescent in return for them giving me a job. And he’s invited us to dinner every evening this week.” It didn’t sound terribly suspicious put like that. She expected Charles to laugh at her, but he dug out his notebook instead and scribbled in it.
“It could be charity—we shouldn’t rule out the obvious. But we should keep gathering clues.”
He seemed to assume Ava would agree, as if she’d become his detective assistant all of a sudden. She was beginning to suspect that not only did Freedom for Fair Folk lack members, but Charles also lacked friends.
Charles slung his basket over his arm. “I’d better get home. See you soon. You can find me at Church Street if you need me, or in the bakery.”
He walked away, whistling. Ava watched him go, her frown growing deeper. She was already beginning to wish she hadn’t mentioned the mirror to Charles. He was a boy who loved mysteries. How long would it take him to uncover her secret?
CHAPTER 8
Look, the thing about predicting the future is this: It’s hard. So much of the future depends on what has happened previously. All I can say for sure is that we are in a lot of trouble. Probably a seventy-seven percent chance of us all being doomed, but who knows?
—The Book
Howell smoothed the sheet over the mirror and walked back to Master Tudur’s chair on shaky legs. A human girl. In a mirror that had stopped working almost a hundred years ago.
This might be a trick—a test set up by Mr. Bones to see what he’d do—but somehow, Howell doubted it. If Mr. Bones could make mirrors work again, he’d have filled the Mirror Station with them and made himself far more powerful than he already was.
Howell sat for a long time, watching the shrouded mirrors until Master Tudur came in. “Where’s Will?” Master Tudur asked, shaking out his coat and hanging it up.
“Upstairs.”
Master Tudur nodded and started to go on up the stairs, but paused, turning back. “Has something happened, Howell? You don’t look quite right.”
For a moment he considered telling Master Tudur everything, but the words wouldn’t come. Ava had asked him to keep this secret, and according to the covenant, he had to fulfill her request. That’s what he’d say if anyone found out about this, anyway. Technically, it wasn’t a magical service so he wasn’t bound, but with the covenant so fragile, no one would blame him for being careful.
“Everything’s fine,” he said. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
