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

summarize for you. In the past few hours there have been three incidents. A witch has escaped our custody. Princess Georgette has vanished from the palace. And now it seems one of the office staff, working on a high-level investigation, has also inexplicably disappeared?”

Ariosto blinked. The princess had run away? After days spent guarding King Oswald, he didn’t really blame her. Impossible though it seemed at the present moment, Oswald was even more unpleasant than the cardinal.

“I understand that the situation is deeply serious, my lord.”

“Good.” For a moment the cardinal’s tension was audible in his voice. “You realize that the kingdom is under the most serious attack in living memory? The smallest slip now, in such a time of crisis, is unforgivable.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“I am disappointed, Milan,” said the cardinal softly. His voice was thick oil filling Ariosto’s ears. “I am very, very disappointed. You seem to be losing your edge.”

“I am ashamed, my lord —”

An invisible pressure, fast as a whiplash. Ariosto cried out. He was cast facedown onto the floor, his cheek pressed into the stone flags, his arms pinned, his legs. It was as if a hundredweight of rocks pushed down on every inch of his body. He couldn’t move; he couldn’t breathe. Every second it grew heavier. He could feel his ribs cracking. He only had space for a single thought: he was going to die.

Just as he was about to black out, the pressure lifted. His starved lungs made a whistling noise as the air rushed back in. He lay there for a measureless time, unable to feel anything except an incredulous relief that the weight had gone.

“Get up.”

The cardinal’s voice was absolutely cold.

Ariosto found to his surprise that he could move. He lifted himself onto his knees and then to his feet. He was shaking all over, and he almost fell again because of his dizziness.

“I will spare you, for now,” said the cardinal. “But this is your final chance.”

Ariosto nodded. He was still unable to speak.

“I want you to find d’Artan. I want you especially to find the documents he absconded with. I want you to do this within the next day and night.”

Ariosto nodded again.

“I expect both are concealed in the Weavers’ Quarter. I expect the raids to be thorough and executed with speed and efficiency.”

“Yes, my lord. The raids are progressing well . . .”

“I have my own reports, fool. Get your disgusting presence out of my chamber.”

Ariosto bowed and walked backward out of the room, bent over as if he were leaving the presence of a king. He closed the door softly behind him and straightened up slowly. He didn’t care that one of the office guards was staring at him with a mixture of fear and mockery. Right now Ariosto was beyond pride. He hurt viciously all over, from the hairs on his head to his toenails.

He felt astonished that he was still alive. He walked to his office, feeling the surprise ebb away. In its place was a liberating clarity. Without realizing it, he had been afraid his whole life. And now, for the first time he could remember, he wasn’t afraid.

The worst the cardinal could do was to kill him. Well, this time Lamir had made a mistake. Ariosto was alive. And every living cell inside him vibrated with hatred.

PIP WAS ALMOST TOO TIRED TO BE AMAZED, BUT EVEN so, the Undercroft took him aback. The past few days had been a series of successive shocks, but somehow the Undercroft was the biggest. It was as if he had looked up at the sky and discovered a populous city hanging just over his head, only to be told that it had been there all his life.

“All these people live in Clarel?” he said. “And they’re all witches?”

“I think there are people here now who aren’t witches,” said Oni, looking around. “But just because you don’t know about something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”

“I know, but so many . . . ?”

“Imagine having to hide for your whole life in case someone decided to burn you to death. That’s why.”

Pip was silenced by the edge in her voice, but El took Oni’s hand.

“That’s awful,” she said. “I’m sorry you couldn’t even tell me.”

“I know,” said Oni. “But I couldn’t.”

“But now it doesn’t matter?”

Oni shrugged. “Things are changing,” she said. “Though maybe they’re changing for the worse.”

It was almost lunchtime. They had snatched a few hours’ sleep, but it wasn’t enough: Pip could feel tiredness dragging at his shoulders. More than anything, he wanted to go back to sleep, but not just because he was still tired. Clovis was inside his head, and he wouldn’t shut up. It was driving him up the wall.

We’re friends now, aren’t we? Clovis had said, when they had been vomited back out of the Rupture into Missus Orphint’s kitchen.

Yes, we’re friends, said Pip.

So what do friends do? Do we play? Do we?

Clovis sounded very young, much younger than when they had first spoken. Like he was about three. The arrogant child prince seemed to have disappeared altogether.

We be friends, said Pip. That’s what friends do.

Oh. The disappointment in Clovis’s voice gave Pip a twinge of conscience. I thought we might do something special.

Just being friends is special, said Pip, unable to think of anything better to say. Even to his own ears it sounded like a sop. But it seemed to please Clovis. As they lay down to sleep on Missus Orphint’s pallets, he had the strangest feeling that Clovis was cuddling trustingly against him.

And then Amina had woken them and said she was taking them all to the Undercroft, even the assassin. Heironomo had given up arguing, but at this he looked frightened. Oni told him that he was lucky that Pip hadn’t left him behind in the Rupture. “Nobody’s going to turn you into a frog,” she said scornfully, “even if you deserve it.”

Heironomo, all his braggadocio gone, didn’t answer. All he knew was that he