The Threads of Magic

by Alison Croggon

  “Oni will know,” said Clovis.

  “I always trusted Oni,” said Georgette.

  “Of course we can trust Oni.” Pip smiled at Clovis. Maybe it would be all right. And if it wasn’t, maybe they could work it out. “That’s settled, then. Though if you ever call me a commoner again, I’ll throw you out.”

  Clovis laughed. “I promise I won’t,” he said.

  In the next moment, although Clovis didn’t appear to do anything, they were back in the daylit street that they had been walking down – when? Minutes ago? Hours ago?

  Pip and Georgette blinked as a dazzling shaft of late-afternoon sunlight hit their eyes. Pip wasn’t sure if it was the sunshine or the sheer relief of being back in Clarel, but he could feel a tear creeping down his cheek.

  Thank you, Clovis, he said.

  Oni’s coming, said Clovis. She looks all kinds of cross.

  Pip looked up and saw Oni walking towards them, very fast. She did look cross.

  Chapter Fifty-three

  GEORGETTE DIDN’T EVER BECOME QUEEN. TO HER surprise, she didn’t mind at all.

  The battle in front of Clarel Palace that she had run away from had been nasty, but short. There were other struggles that day, all over the city, and in the end the people did win. Not even the King’s soldiers could withstand the entire city rising up against the palace.

  Arresting everyone in the Weavers’ Quarter on the day of the Midsummer Festival had been, it turned out, a very bad idea indeed. Everyone was already sick of the nobles and the Cardinal’s assassins, and the arrests were the final straw.

  After a few days of chaos, Missus Clay, as chief of the Witches’ Council, announced a new Republic of Clarel. There was to be a People’s Parliament, and witchcraft was to be taught properly to anybody who wanted to know it. King Axel was put in the tower instead of being decapitated, in deference to Princess Georgette, who had decided to take her mother’s name and was now just plain Georgette Livnel.

  Georgette thought on balance that it was better that her father didn’t have his head cut off, but she also thought, in a secret part of her, that she wouldn’t have especially minded. The King had never shown her a moment’s kindness in her whole life, and she wouldn’t have spared him a single tear.

  A lot of nobles fled the country in that first week, taking as much gold as they could carry. Queen Theoroda asked to return to her own kingdom, and most of her ladies-in-waiting wanted to go with her. Others, like Sibelius, stayed and gave up their titles. Sibelius was, to his surprise, appointed to the committee that was going to organize the new elections. The Witches’ Council suggested that he should be nominated as a minister in the new People’s Parliament. So was Harpin Shtum, who was even more surprised.

  But people had to vote for them first, and organizing an election was a lot of work. Everything took much longer now, because there wasn’t a king to give orders. Sometimes, despite everything, Georgette missed that. There had been far fewer arguments back then.

  The only person the witches thought should be executed was the Cardinal, but obviously King Oswald had taken care of him. His chief assassin was nowhere to be found. In the end, they decided that Ariosto must be dead, by unknown means. Perhaps it was something to do with the breaking of the Spectres.

  Amina felt a bit sad about Ariosto: she had always thought that there was something that could be redeemed in the chief assassin. She made a blessing for his soul, and busied herself with the Cardinal’s orphanages. Heironomo Blaise became one of her chief helpers, so El had been right that he wasn’t all bad. What Amina saw in the orphanages made her sorry that they couldn’t try the Cardinal and sentence him to some long and horrible punishment.

  Making a new republic was a lot of work, most of it quite dull. There were people to feed and laws to be made and rubbish to be collected and questions of public hygiene to be determined, and almost every public building had to be repaired, because King Axel II had spent most of the taxes on his palace and his private wardrobe. Getting everything in order was going to take ages. And not everyone was happy about it, and already some people were plotting to bring back another king.

  Children didn’t starve in the streets any more, and there was more and nicer food for everyone, but that didn’t stop anybody complaining, especially the former nobles. Life is never perfect, after all. But most people felt as if a huge weight had lifted off the City of Clarel. No one more than witches, who no longer had to hide who they were in case they were burned at the stake.

  Pip and El got their apartment back, and Oni returned to work at the Crosseyes. Georgette moved in with Amina because she didn’t want to live in the palace, and she used her princessing skills to help the new ambassadors, who were having to deal with a lot of upset monarchs in other parts of Continentia. So far no one had threatened to invade them, mostly because they didn’t know what the Clarel witches might do if they did. Georgette counted that as a victory.

  A few weeks after the Storming of the Palace, Pip, El, Oni and Georgette met up at the Crosseyes to have an evening meal. Pip and Oni still annoyed each other, but now they were also the best of friends, so they didn’t quarrel quite as much as they had before.

  It was a while since they had all seen each other, because everyone was busy, and in the end El had personally visited each of them and insisted.

  “I love you all,” she’d said. “And that’s that.”

  And so they met up. El was wearing a pretty dress that Georgette had given her – pale blue with fichu lace at her throat – and Georgette was wearing trousers and a cloak, because she thought those clothes were much more comfortable. She had caused a scandal when she first wore trousers, but now the most daring young ladies were copying her. Oni had never been one for fine clothes, but tonight she was wearing a pale pink dress and had ribbons threaded through her hair.

  Next to Oni, Pip was looking a little self-conscious in a new green velvet jacket that he had bought with his own money. Amina had found him a job in a bookshop near the Weavers’ Quarter. He still didn’t know how to read, but he did know his numbers, which was really all that mattered in selling things. Secretly, in his spare time, Pip was learning his letters. Oni could read, and was sometimes a little superior about it.

  They ordered roast goose and buttered peas for dinner, and the yellow parsley wine that was the Crosseyes speciality. El smiled at Pip and lifted her cup, and suddenly Pip remembered his old daydream: that he would take El out for a slap-up dinner in a new dress. And there she was, sparkling with happiness.

  He lifted his cup. “Here’s to everything!” he said.

  Oni laughed, and lifted hers. “That’s pretty general, Pip,” she said. “How about just us?”

  “All right, us too. We’re part of everything, after all.” He was feeling light-headed: the parsley wine was quite strong.

  El put down her cup. “Remember when you found the Heart, Pip, and I was so frightened?” she said. “I thought it was the most horrible thing that ever happened to us. I would never have believed it would turn out like this. I thought I had lost everything. Even you.”

  “I knew it was going to be our fortune,” said Pip. “I just didn’t know how.”

  Oni smiled. “It was all of our fortunes,” she said. “Because we all remembered how much we like each other. We always did, you know, even when we fought like cats in a bag. Even Georgie. She’d forgotten about me, but then she remembered.”

  “I never forgot you, Oni,” said Georgette indignantly. “I just wasn’t allowed to see you.”

  “Whatever you say, Princess,” said Oni, grinning mischievously.

  “Anyway, we’re friends now.”

  “Of course. It’s better than being a queen, isn’t it?”

  Georgette blushed, because she was still a little embarrassed about her old ambition. For a moment she wished she hadn’t told Oni about it.

  Oni poked her in the ribs. “I’m only teasing, Georgie. You shouldn’t take it amiss.”


  Georgie met her eyes and smiled. “Well, you’re right. It is better than being a queen. For one thing, I can wear whatever I like, and for another, I get to talk to whoever I like, and I don’t have to speak to Duchess Albria ever again in my whole life.”

  “Who’s Duchess Albria?” asked El.

  “She was my senior lady-in-waiting. She hated me, and I hated her. She went to Awemt, of all places. I hope she’s happy there.”

  “Meaning that you hope she isn’t,” said Pip.

  Georgette thought it over. “No, I don’t mean that,” she said. “I don’t want people to be unhappy. I just don’t want them to make me unhappy.”

  “It’s time for pudding,” said El. “Do you want to ask the landlord, Pip? As the only gentleman here…”

  “Not the only gentleman,” Pip said. “What will we get?”

  “It’s plum season,” said Georgette. “Let’s order stewed plums. With custard.”

  Yes, please, said Clovis. I love plums.

  ALISON CROGGON is the acclaimed author of the high fantasy series The Books of Pellinor. She is also the author of Black Spring, a fantasy reworking of Wuthering Heights, which was shortlisted for the NSW Premier’s Literary Awards; and The River and the Book, which was endorsed by Amnesty International and was shortlisted for the YA prize in the WA Premier’s Book Awards. Alison is an award-winning poet whose work has been published extensively, and she has written widely for theatre, with her plays and opera libretti having been produced all around Australia. Alison is also an editor and critic. She lives in Melbourne, Australia.

  Other titles by this author

  The Books of Pellinor:

  The Bone Queen

  The Gift

  The Riddle

  The Crow

  The Singing

  Black Spring

  The River and the Book

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. All statements, activities, stunts, descriptions, information and material of any other kind contained herein are included for entertainment purposes only and should not be relied on for accuracy or replicated as they may result in injury.

  First published in Great Britain 2020 by Walker Books Ltd

  87 Vauxhall Walk, London SE11 5HJ

  Text © 2020 Alison Croggon

  Cover illustration © 2020 Matt Saunders

  Calligraphy © 2020 Jan Bielecki

  The right of Alison Croggon to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, taping and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data: a catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 978-1-4063-9415-3 (ePub)

  www.walker.co.uk