The Threads of Magic by Alison Croggon (best books for students to read .TXT) 📗

she said. “None of them wish me good. My father wants to marry me to a Specter and send me away to another country where I’ll be all by myself, totally in his power.”

Helios looked sad. “Your own father?”

“He said he’d have me beheaded if I didn’t,” she said. “I don’t think he would really, but if he catches me now, after I’ve run away, I’ll be locked up and forced to marry King Oswald. I’d much rather have my head cut off.”

All the witches could hear the suppressed terror in Georgette’s voice. Even Amiable looked taken aback.

Amina, seeing that Georgette was on the brink of tears, stepped forward and took her hand. “It’s all right, Georgie,” she said. “Of course people are going to be suspicious. We all have suffered greatly at the hands of the royals. And trust is hard to earn.”

Georgette swallowed. “Of course,” she said, trying to speak proudly, as a princess would.

“Well, I understand why she wants our help. I still don’t get why we’re helping her,” said Amiable. “What’s in it for us?” A couple of others murmured in agreement.

Amina was about to answer when she saw the look on Missus Orphint’s face. “Something’s happened, hasn’t it?”

Missus Orphint nodded. “Yes. I’m afraid Eleanor Wastan has been taken by a Rupture.”

Amina went still, and her jaw tightened. “This happened in your house? You left them alone, after that?”

“I’m sorry, Amina. I had no choice. I didn’t dare to take them out of the safe house. It was imperative that the council knew, and I came as fast as I could. I think we must find Old Missus Pledge’s spell now, as a matter of urgency.”

“But how?” said Helios. “It’s been missing all these years, and no one knows where to find it . . .”

“Oni told me about Missus Pledge’s papers,” said Missus Orphint. “I think she had the spell in her house all that time.”

“I do, too,” said Amina. “But if we are right, those papers are now in the hands of Cardinal Lamir, at the Office for Witchcraft Extermination.”

“Then we really are in the basket,” said Juin. “Even if they haven’t worked out how to read the spell, how under heaven do we find it, let alone get it back?”

A desolate silence fell. Georgette, who was still standing a little aside, spoke hesitantly. “I think I know where it might be,” she said.

“You?” said Amiable. “Why?”

Georgette lifted her chin. She was getting a little tired of Amiable’s needling. “A couple of years ago I found out that my tutor, Sibelius d’Artan, works for Cardinal Lamir. He translates papers for him, and various other things . . . I was curious, so I went to the palace library and looked up a monograph he wrote. It was in the locked section, but I managed to get in there by stealing the librarian’s keys. It said that Sibelius was the world’s foremost authority on the witch script.”

Missus Clay snorted. “Aside from witches, of course,” she said.

“Yes. So my guess is that if anybody is investigating secret papers, it will be Sibelius.”

Missus Orphint looked thoughtful. “It’s worth a try,” she said. “A simple finding spell could pinpoint where this Sibelius is.”

Amina had been listening, but in an abstracted way. “I don’t like the thought of those young people all on their own with all this Specter magic,” she said abruptly.

“Neither do I,” said Missus Orphint. “Although Oni is, after all, very capable.”

“Yes, she is, but . . .” Amina bit back what she was planning to say. “Perhaps I can leave retrieving the papers up to you? I want to make sure my daughter is safe.”

“Of course.” Missus Orphint rummaged in her bag until she found a key, and held it out.

Amina took the key and hurried off, kissing Georgette hastily on the forehead in farewell. The princess watched her leave, feeling abandoned again. In the palace she knew that nobody really cared about her, but even so, she was always looked after. Nobody here seemed to care about her at all. Not even Amina.

“All right,” said Amiable. “Let’s see if this princess really is of any use.”

SIBELIUS HAD SPENT THE ENTIRE NIGHT IN HIS DINGY room at the Office for Witchcraft Extermination, trying to save his neck.

For the past two years, Sibelius’s biggest ambition had been to survive his employment and get home to his modest estate. He kept his head down and concentrated on pleasing his master as best he could. He tried not to think too hard about what he was doing. He wasn’t sure anymore that he was helping to prevent evil. He had a horrible feeling that he was doing the reverse. And that was even before all the business with the Stone Heart . . .

Survival seemed a very slim chance now.

His eyes ached from staring at the last will and testament and property deeds of Prunelissima Arabella Pledge, spinster and seamstress of Omiker Lane. He had examined it from every possible angle. He had compared the measurements of her humble apartment with the measurements recorded on the page. They accorded exactly. He had cautiously held the parchment over a candle flame to reveal any invisible writing. He had tried dribbling grape and lemon juice on the pages. He had taken out every second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh word, to see if they made any hidden sentences. He turned them into numbers and read them backward and sideways and diagonally.

He had fallen asleep at the desk and had horrible dreams about Prunelissima’s meager possessions: pins and needles danced around bonfires, and armies of china cups came to arrest him. No matter what he did, he couldn’t find anything to show that these documents were anything more than what they appeared to be. And he knew he couldn’t get away with making something up. The cardinal would know instantly if he tried to deceive him.

His eyes felt as if they had been rolled in sand.