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

The old woman hobbled through the crowd and stood in front of Georgette, her arms folded. “You put the girl down, boys,” she said. To Georgette’s chagrin, they instantly obeyed.

The old woman was studying her with rather too sharp a gaze. “Granny Golovier, at your service,” she said. “I thank you, Your Highness.”

Georgette nodded graciously, hiding a sudden wariness. Was this woman a witch? “My pleasure,” she said.

“I don’t know if you are who you say you are, but I’m grateful,” Granny Golovier went on. “My advice is, princess or no, you go home now.”

“My place is with my people,” said Georgette.

“I’m not sure who your people are, but I’m pretty sure these aren’t them.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” said Georgette, glancing around at the crowd. “I must speak to the leaders of the rebellion.”

The old woman frowned, her face collapsing into a web of wrinkles, and then beckoned Georgette closer. Georgette, deciding again to be gracious, took the woman’s hand and leaned down until she could feel her whiskers tickling her face.

“I think you’ll be needing to talk to the Witches’ Council, my dear,” the old woman whispered in her ear. “That’s if you’re really serious about talking to leaders.”

Georgette jerked back, but the woman kept hold of her hand with surprising strength. “Listen, my girl. I can see right plainly that the way you’re going you’re headed for trouble.”

“I don’t need witches,” hissed Georgette. “I want to talk to the people.”

“Witches are people, girl. All kinds of people. It’s what nobles never quite understood . . .”

“Are you a witch?”

At this, the old woman let out a crack of laughter. “Me? No! But I’ve been around this world a good bit longer than you, and I know a thing or two.”

Georgette bit her lip and straightened up, withdrawing her hand. For a moment she wavered. Perhaps Granny Golovier was right. Perhaps she really should go back to the Undercroft.

But that would be humiliating. She imagined how Amiable would sneer. It would be admitting defeat before she had even tried.

This was her chance to be queen. Leading the riots was how Axel I had become king, after all. Why couldn’t she do the same? All she needed was courage.

“Thank you, my good woman,” she said loudly, for the benefit of the bystanders. “I will always fight for justice.”

Some of the crowd, Georgette saw, were losing interest now that the soldiers had gone and were wandering off. She had to gain their attention. She took a deep breath as she had been taught to do in her deportment classes.

“Arise, my people!” she cried. “We must cast down the tyrants!”

Some laughed, but others started cheering.

Georgette lifted her hand. “To the palace!”

More people started cheering, and a few began to chant, “To the palace!” She was hoisted up again by the burly men and swept off in a wave of enthusiasm.

It was a little difficult to keep her balance and dignity as she bobbed above the heads of the crowd, but Georgette did her best, holding her chin high. As they proceeded up the street, more people joined the crowd, attracted by the shouting and cheering. She looked over her shoulder. There were dozens of people now.

This was more like it. It was exactly as she had imagined, like the uprisings she had read about in history books.

Granny Golovier stared after Georgette until her bearers turned a corner and disappeared, and then she shook her head at a couple of chickens that were scratching in the dirt. “Poor silly child,” she said. “Sometimes you just can’t tell them.”

IN HIS PRIVATE LIBRARY, CARDINAL LAMIR SAT ALONE at his writing desk, staring at the wall. Something was amiss in the fabric of things. The riots in the city — pffff— who cared? A little bloodletting didn’t do any harm. The king would send in the army, there’d be a massacre, and then everybody would go home. But riots along with the disappearing princess, the loss of the Stone Heart, and revolting witches? Those were more serious matters.

He had an uncomfortable feeling that King Oswald knew more about his plans than he would have liked. And it had been a mistake to use the office to hunt down the Stone Heart. He realized that now. It had drawn attention.

He checked his pocket watch. Ariosto was late.

The cardinal was still the only person who knew how to use the Stone Heart. That was a comfort. Not even the witches knew. The Oracle of the Void, whom he summoned through the mirror in his library, had shown him the exact spell the witch had used to make it, and in that instant he had seen how to take this half-formed soul, this Specter-who-was-not-a-Specter, and incorporate it into his own being.

Once he did that, he could control Ruptures. And once he could control Ruptures, he could control reality. He could, if he wished, destroy King Oswald.

Destroying King Oswald was very much part of the cardinal’s plan. From there it would be a simple matter to take over all of Continentia. There would be nothing and no one to stop him.

One careless decision. That’s all it had taken. He should have sent assassins to collect the Stone Heart. They wouldn’t have lost it. But at that stage he was hoping to keep it secret even from assassins. He still held out hope that he could wrest it back from the witches. It would have to be found quickly if everything were not to be lost. Or worse . . .

So near, and yet so far.

The hair prickled on the back of the cardinal’s neck. That wasn’t his own thought. Or was it?

Low laughter echoed through the room. The cardinal knew that laugh. He whirled in his chair, looking wildly around. The chamber was empty. But then he saw that the surface of the mirror was shimmering, like the surface of a dark pond. His mirror. The mirror that no other being, living