Brinley was startled by the speed of her transformation. In a second, the reasonable, helpful Habis was gone. Her eyes flashed, and she took out the knife that she had been holding earlier. “Ungrateful child!” she spat, brandishing the knife. “I could kill you so quick you’d be a ghost before you saw it coming!” She put the knife away. “But I don’t,” she said calmly. “That should be enough proof that you can trust me. But,” she said slowly, “if it helps, you also have my word.” She held out her hand. “Witch’s honor.”
“Witch’s honor?” Brinley asked, taking the woman’s hand reluctantly. “Is that a thing?”
Habis shook once, and Brinley pulled her hand back sharply as something zapped her. “Ha!” the witch laughed darkly. “You see, a real thing. Now, what do you want?”
Brinley thought hard. “Will you help me rescue Hugo?”
The witch gave a bark of laughter. “The Paradise prince? Not unless you plan to kill him afterward. Next.”
“Will you take me to Peridot?”
Habis’s eyes widened. “The Magemother’s herald? I think not. She’s a vicious creature. And she has no love for me in particular. Next.”
Brinley felt a wave of frustration. “Come on, I’m helping you here, you have to help me too.”
“Ah,” Habis held up a finger. “But what I’m asking you for will help you too in the end.”
Brinley fidgeted. “So you say.”
They eyed each for a moment. “Fine,” Brinley said. “What do you suggest I ask you for?”
Habis smiled. “Ah, humility! You’re smarter than you look, girl.” She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. At length, she stood and crossed the room. She drew a small silver key from the pocket of her robe and opened a box on the mantle. When she came back, she was holding what looked like a small glass marble.
“What is it?”
She handed it to Brinley. It looked like a normal marble, except that it had a tiny golden face inside. Habis’s face.
“It summons me,” Habis said, frowning slightly. “I don’t like giving it to you, but it is a fair trade for what you will be giving me. If ever you find yourself in a sticky situation, break this and I will appear instantly.”
Brinley thought it over. “Fine,” she said. “And you’ll take me someplace safe after I give you the ring.”
“Fine.” Habis drew herself up to her full height. “Now, if you are done exploiting me, it is time for you to fulfill your end of the bargain.”
Brinley gave a start. “Right now?” She hadn’t thought things would happen so fast. “I mean, will she be asleep already?”
Habis grinned. “For your sake, I hope so.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
In which Hugo has an earache
Hugo shuddered. He couldn’t see anything, but he could hear the Kutha as it crunched softly on the body of a magpie and then swallowed it with a muffled gulp. He couldn’t move his arms. He was inside the bag again, wrapped in a strong chain this time. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t see. All he could hear was the sound of the Kutha feasting. He had never felt so alone.
Eventually Tennebris had given up on threatening to kill him. Animus had never budged. Hugo didn’t blame him. There were more important things than his own life. He would have done the same thing if their positions had been reversed.
But now he needed to get free. He tried to move again and only succeeded in rolling over. He was on his back now. He stopped struggling when he felt a sharp pain in his leg. The sword point slid slowly up his leg and across his hip, where it pierced through the bag and into his flesh. He screamed and convulsed, but the chains kept him from doubling over.
“Why do you struggle?” Tennebris asked in an eerily calm voice. “You have been beaten. Soon you will know it.”
Hugo bit off a retort. It would only make things worse. He felt his whole body break out in a cold sweat. His breath was coming too fast. He wasn’t getting enough air through the bag. He needed to calm down or he was going to pass out.
Tennebris kicked him violently and then strode away. Hugo heard a loud clang and wondered if Tennebris had dropped the sword. If he could just get free, if he could just reach it.
“Be careful, my pet,” Tennebris said. He was farther away now. “Play, but do not eat.” What was he talking about?
Something sharp pecked at his foot. He shouted, more startled than hurt. Then he realized what was happening. The Kutha was going to play, and he was the toy. His knee was hit next. The pain was sharper this time. He thought it might have broken the skin, and his knee went numb. His head came next, and he was screaming. Once, twice, three times it pecked him. He thought his ear might have been torn. Vaguely he wondered if he would still be able to hear with a torn ear.
The Kutha pecked him again and again, biting, tearing—striking him just hard enough to wound without incapacitating him.
His thoughts became murky as the pain grew. His ear was definitely torn. He wondered if it would fall off. He couldn’t hear out of it anymore.
The Kutha bit into the bottom of his foot savagely, causing him to recoil. He swooned. When he came back to himself his thoughts were fuzzy. He could feel wet blood dripping down his neck from his ear. Would he ever be able to hear again? Would he have to always turn his head to hear people now? From a long way off it seemed he could feel the Kutha still pecking at him. He could tell faintly that his body was in an incredible amount of pain. He could tell that something horrible was happening, and that he was very afraid, but it felt like it was happening to somebody else, not him. (It happens like that sometimes; if things get too bad for your mind to handle, it just shuts off. Hugo was happy to discover this, because it protected him from the bad that was happening, but it is a pity when a person has to discover it at all.)
In this odd, dreamlike state, Hugo’s thoughts were still confused: Would his bad ear be scarred? Would he have to wear a hat to hide it? Even to sleep? If he got out of this alive and lived to be an old man and had a wife, surely she wouldn’t want to turn over in the middle of the night and see his nasty ear? Yes, he would have to wear a hat even when he was sleeping. Sleeping…It would be wonderful just to fall asleep now and not have to think or feel anything at all any more.
Thankfully, his thoughts of sleep eventually turned into the real thing.
Chapter Twenty-Five
In which Brinley kicks a bucket
Brinley crouched behind a pile of firewood several yards from an abandoned mill. “Is that it?” she asked desperately. She had lost track of how long it had been since she had slept. The last few minutes of traipsing through the woods was a blur of mud and thorns and branches clawing at her, and she was exhausted.
“The mill? No, of course not. That would be rather obvious. Come with me.”
Sighing, she followed Habis halfway to the mill, where the witch stopped next to an abandoned well. The well looked like it had come out of a storybook. It had stone sides and a partially dilapidated shingle roof. A bucket stood beside the well, half full of rainwater.
“In you go,” Habis said. “Watch out for her dog.” With that, the witch gave her a firm push. She stumbled forward, foot catching the edge of the bucket. She should have fallen over it, but she didn’t. The bucket grew. It widened, opening like the petals of a flower, swallowing her whole, and she fell. She fell farther than she should have. Finally, she hit water. It was cold and dark, and she couldn’t tell how deep it was. Frantically, she flailed her arms, trying to figure out which way was up. Her feet hit something and she stomped down hard, lurching upward. Her fingers broke the surface and found an edge, and she pulled herself out, coughing.
She was in a cellar of some kind. The bucket wasn’t a bucket from this side; it was a massive barrel, half the size of a car. She figured the witch must keep it for drinking water.
The witch! She was in March’s house!
Fear gripped her as she stood there, cold, dripping wet in the semi-darkness. She had to relax. She had to cal
m down and think clearly. She thought of her father. What would he do? What would he say if he could see her now? She was a long, long way from safety now. She felt hot tears forming, and forced them back. That isn’t what he would do. She needed to calm down. She recited her father’s poem in her head.
When beyond my home you go, there’s several things you ought to know:
That lies will catch you fewer flies than honey and a happy smile
So wash your face, but not the mirror (It’s full of evil things, my dear)
By the time she finished the third line, she was calm enough to look around. The cellar was dimly lit by torchlight that filtered down the stairs. She started up them. All she had to do was find the witch’s ring without being caught. Hopefully March was asleep and it would be easy; she was invisible, after all. The only reason she was here was that Habis thought she had a real chance of success.
Halfway up the stairs, she stopped. There was a dripping noise. She looked down. She had forgotten! She was sopping wet! She glanced back the way she had come and saw that there was a trail of puddles following her up the stairs. Even now she could see water appearing in drops out of thin air, slapping on the stone steps. This wasn’t going to work. Should the witch happen to look in her direction, she was sure to realize something funny was going on. What was she going to do? Desperately, she ran back down and looked around for something to dry off with, but there was nothing. Unbidden, the next line of the poem came into her mind.
And tie your shoes and break the rules (but only when you know you should)
She blushed at a thought, then ground her teeth in determination. Not an ideal solution, but it would have to do. She peeled off her dripping clothes and left them on a barrel. Shivering now, but silent, she snuck back up the steps. I hope I’m still invisible, she thought bitterly. She could hardly have picked a worse place to walk around in her underwear!
She passed a smoldering fire in a small kitchen and suppressed the urge to stop and warm herself in front of it. She had to get this done quickly and get out. Leaving the kitchen, she entered a dimly lit workroom. The walls were lined with cages. As she walked toward them, something on the workbench caught her eye. It was a little bottle of red glass. She read the label.
Hyack: Sets fur on fire. Use in conjunction with Brogueweed to prevent burns.
She shivered. Who would want to set fur on fire? She stepped back and inspected the cages. Animals of all kinds filled them. There was a hairless rabbit, and a bluebird with a massive spike instead of a beak. “You poor things,” she whispered. “Is she experimenting on you or something?” Unlike Habis’s snake, these animals didn’t answer her, but a very tired-looking gopher turned at the sound of her voice. There was smoke trailing out of its ears.
Brinley looked around quickly. There was a set of keys on the workbench. She picked them up and went to the first cage. This wasn’t part of the plan, but she couldn’t just leave them here. To her dismay, several of the animals went wild the moment she opened the cages. The bluebird chirped and banged at the ceiling with his beak, and a three-legged porcupine tipped over a tray of instruments as it bounded around in search of an exit.
“Stop!” she whispered desperately. “Please stop!” But they ignored her. She hurried to open the rest of the cages. When she got to the last one, she heard a bark from somewhere above her and spun around.
“Please,” a soft voice said, and Brinley jumped. “I beg you, phantom, release me! I cannot stand another day in this cage.”
She turned back to see a very small man peering at her through the cage door. He had thick shoulders and a strong face under a scraggly beard. He seemed to be middle-aged, but couldn’t have been more than ten inches tall.
“Come, spirit!” he urged, rattling the door. “Release me and I will aid you in your quest.”
Brinley inserted the key and the man burst out of the cage. At the same time, a gargantuan black dog came hurtling down the stairs. The hair on the nape of its neck was standing straight up, its teeth were bared in a snarl, and its eyes were locked on the tiny man.
“Ha!” the man laughed enthusiastically. “Out of the frying pan and into the fire!”
Without missing a beat, the man leapt into the air and punched the dog hard on the nose, causing it to sneeze and reel back in surprise. The little man landed lightly on his toes and sprinted from the room. “I’ll distract him, spirit!” he shouted. “You kill the witch!”
The sound of crashing pans issued from the kitchen, and the dog, gaining control of itself once again, bounded after it.
“What is this racket?” a voice hissed. March emerged from the same staircase the dog had.
Brinley held her breath, squeezing up against the nearest cage to stay out of the way. She was almost close enough to touch her.
I’m invisible, she assured herself. I’m invisible. I’m invisible. I’m invisible.
The witch’s eyes narrowed as she surveyed the room, taking in the open cages. “This will be that filthy gnome’s work,” she muttered to herself, sliding out of the room towards the kitchen. Her hand passed dangerously close to Brinley as she walked by. There was no ring! She must have been asleep up there and forgot to put it back on.
When the witch was gone, Brinley dashed up the stairs, tiptoeing as she ran. She couldn’t believe she was sneaking farther into a place that she should be trying to get out of. She reached March’s chambers and had to cover her nose. The smell was horrible! In the middle of the room there was what looked like an oversize cradle lined with corn husks and straw, and a slimy orange substance. Just by looking at it she knew that’s where the smell was coming from.
On the floor next to the cradle was a small wooden table, and in the center of the table, reposing on a little black cushion, was an iron ring.
She crept towards it, trying not to look at a frightfully carved stone gargoyle that guarded the door. She grabbed the ring and turned around, only to find that the gargoyle had come to life. It glared at her with bright red eyes.
“INTRUDER!” The gargoyle screamed in a voice like an avalanche. “I CURSE YOU! INTRUDER!”
Brinley screamed and fell to the floor, tripping over something as she tried to back away. The gargoyle turned to stone again. She stared at it. Would it come back to life? Maybe it was just an illusion.
Then she heard footsteps on the stairs. The damage had been done. March stepped from the stairs into the room. “What devilry is this?” she spat, staring at the place her ring had been. Brinley ducked around her as she advanced, leaping down the stairs.
“AGHHH!” the witch screamed behind her. “WHO ARE YOU, THIEF?” Brinley tumbled as she hit the floor of the workroom. Righting herself, she found the dog blocking her way to the next set of stairs. It barked at her, hair bristling, and she backed into the wall. It couldn’t see her, she knew, but it could smell her.
“Aha!” she heard someone shout. Looking down, she saw a blur and flash of steel, and then the last few inches of the dog’s tail sailed through the air. The dog howled and twisted, snapping his jaws twice in quick succession. The little man narrowly avoided the dog’s teeth, dancing away gracefully.
The red jar on the table caught Brinley’s eye again as she swept past it. Spontaneously, she picked it up and hurled it at the dog.
It broke over his head and spilled out over his back, and a shower of sparks cascaded from the place the powder met the dog’s fur, and he burst into flame. Howling, he ran up the stairs towards the witch’s bedroom.
“Get out of my way!” she heard the witch scream from the staircase. “They are escaping!”
“Ha! Excellent!” the little man cried jubilantly. “Now hurry!” He rushed for the front door.
“This way!” Brinley said. “Follow me.” She sped down the steps into the cellar and stopped next to the water barrel.
“What are you doing?” the man said, coming up behind her. He was looking around for Brinley. “The witch will catch us!”
�
�No, she won’t.” Brinley jumped into the barrel. She hoped this worked both ways.
It did. In a moment she was climbing out of the bucket on the ground outside the old mill, her newfound friend right behind her.
“Did you get it?” Habis asked excitedly. “Where are you?”
Brinley tossed the ring to her and she snatched it out of the air. “Now get us out of here,” Brinley said. “She’s right behind us.”
A cold gleam issued from Habis’s eyes. She put the ring on one finger and held her knife in the other hand. Both glowed with the green light. “I’m busy just now,” she said. She pointed with the knife. “That is the quickest way to the city.” With that, she jumped head first into the bucket.
“Where are we?” the little man said. “I was captured far from here.”
“Somewhere near…Aquilar, I believe,” Brinley told him. She had to think to remember what Cannon had called the city. “We got lost in the woods and then we were in this town full of witches.”
“Kokum?” He sounded startled. “Then this is not a good place to be. Can we trust the witch’s directions?”
“I think we have to,” Brinley said, glancing back at the bucket. She was shivering like mad now, teeth chattering violently against the quiet backdrop of the night. How could she be so stupid! Why hadn’t she grabbed her clothes?
“Pardon me,” the little man said awkwardly. “I know that I do not understand the nature of your situation, and I hope that I have not violated propriety, but as I was following you into the barrel I could not help noticing a bundle of girl’s clothing just sitting there.” He reached inside his tunic and brought out her clothes. “I remembered that your voice sounded much like a girl’s, and it occurred to me that you might not be a spirit at all.”
“Oh, thank you!” Brinley said, taking her clothes gratefully. “No, I’m not a spirit.”
His face contorted into a confused half frown. Brinley knew that to him it must look like her clothes had disappeared into the night.
The Mage and the Magpie Page 18
