House of Many Ways (13 page)

“He frowned some more and said, ‘But that avalanche was only last month, young man. They’re saying that a lubbock set it off and it certainly killed a lot of people—or are we talking about the avalanche forty years ago?’ And he looked very stern and disbelieving at me.

“I wondered how I could make him believe what had happened. I said, ‘I promise it’s true. Some of your house must go back in time. It’s where the
Afternoon Teas disappear to. And—this should prove it—we put that vase of flowers on the trolley the other day and it came back here to you.’ He looked at the vase, but he didn’t say anything. I said, ‘I came here to your house because my mother arranged for me to be your apprentice.’

“He said, ‘Did she indeed? I must have been wanting to oblige her quite badly then. You don’t seem to me to have any remarkable talent.’

“‘I can do magic,’ I said, ‘but my mother can arrange anything when she wants to.’

“He said, ‘True. She has a remarkably forceful personality. What did I say when you turned up?’

“‘You didn’t,’ I said. ‘You weren’t there. A girl called Charmain Baker was looking after your house—or she was supposed to be, but she went off and worked for the King and met a fire demon—’

“He interrupted me then, looking shocked. ‘A fire demon? Young man, those are very dangerous beings. Are you telling me that the Witch of the Waste will be in High Norland before long?’

“‘No, no,’ I said. ‘One of the Royal Wizards in
Ingary did for the Witch of the Waste nearly three years ago now. This one was something to do with the King, Charmain said. I suppose she’s only just born from your point of view, but she said you were ill and the elves carried you off to cure you and her Aunt Sempronia arranged for Charmain to look after the house while you were gone.’

“He looked quite upset about this. He sat back in his chair and blinked a bit. ‘I have a great-niece called Sempronia,’ he said, sort of slowly and thinking about it. ‘This
could
be so. Sempronia has married into a very respectable family, I believe—’

“‘Oh, they are!’ I said. ‘You should just see Charmain’s mother. She’s so respectable she doesn’t let Charmain do anything.’”

Thank you very much, Peter! Charmain thought. Now he thinks I’m a complete waste of space!

“But he wasn’t really interested,” Peter went on. “He wanted to know what had made him ill and I couldn’t tell him. Do
you
know?” he asked Charmain. Charmain shook her head. Peter shrugged and said, “Then he sighed, and said he
supposed it didn’t matter, because it seemed to have been unavoidable. But after that, he said, quite pathetically and all puzzled, ‘But I don’t
know
any elves!’

“I said, ‘Charmain said it was the King who sent the elves.’

“‘Oh,’ he said, and he looked much happier. ‘Of course it would be! The royal family has elf blood—several of them married elves and the elves do keep up the connection, I believe.’ Then he looked at me and said, ‘So this story begins to hang together.’

“I said, ‘Well it should do. It’s all true. But what I don’t understand is what you did to make the kobolds so angry with you.’

“‘Nothing, I assure you,’ he said. ‘Kobolds are my friends, they have been for years. They do a great many tasks for me. I would no more anger a kobold than I would anger my friend the King.’

“He seemed annoyed enough about this that I thought I’d better change the subject. I said, ‘Then can I ask you about this house? Did you build it or find it?’

“‘Oh, found it,’ he said. ‘Or at least I bought it when I was quite a young, struggling wizard, because it seemed small and cheap. Then I found it was a labyrinth of many ways. It was a delightful discovery, I can tell you. It seems once to have belonged to a Wizard Melicot, the same man who made the roof of the Royal Mansion appear to be gold. I have always hoped that, somewhere inside this house, there is hidden the actual gold that was in the Royal Treasury at the time. The King has been looking for that for years, you know.’

“And you can guess how that made me prick up my ears,” Peter said. “But I never got to ask any more, because he said, looking at the vase on the table, ‘So these are really flowers from the future, then? Do you mind telling me what sort they are?’

“I was quite astonished he didn’t know. I told him they were hydrangeas from his own garden. ‘The colored ones the kobolds cut off,’ I said. And he looked at them and murmured that they were quite magnificent, particularly the way they were so many different colors. ‘I shall have to start growing them
for myself,’ he said. ‘They have more colors than roses.’

“‘You can get them to grow blue too,’ I said. ‘My mother uses a spell with copper powder for ours.’ And while he was murmuring about that, I asked him if I could take them back with me, so that I could prove to you that I’d met him.

“‘Certainly, certainly,’ he said. ‘They are rather in the way here. And tell your young lady who knows the fire demon that I hope to have my chart of the house finished by the time she is grown up enough to need it.’

“So,” Peter said, “I took the flowers and came away. Wasn’t that extraordinary!”

“Very,” said Charmain. “He wouldn’t have grown hydrangeas if the kobolds hadn’t cut them off and I hadn’t picked them up and you hadn’t got lost—It makes my head go round.” She pushed aside her bowlful of cabbage and turnip. I shall be nice to him. I shall, I
shall
! “Peter, how would it be if I called in on my father on my way home tomorrow and asked him for a cookery book? He must
have hundreds. He’s the best cook in town.”

Peter looked utterly relieved. “Good idea,” he said. “My mother’s never told me much about cooking. She always does it all.”

And I shan’t object to the way he’s made Great-Uncle William think of me, Charmain vowed. I shall be kind. But if he does that once again…

In the night, a worrying thought struck Charmain. If you could travel in time in Great-Uncle William’s house, what was to stop her arriving in the Royal Mansion ten years ago, to find that the King was not expecting her? Or ten years in the future, to find that Prince Ludovic was ruling now? It was enough to make her decide to walk to the Mansion in the usual way.

So, the next morning, Charmain set off along the road, with Waif pattering behind her, until they came by the cliff where the lubbock’s meadow was,
when Waif became so breathless and pathetic that Charmain picked her up. As usual, Charmain thought. I feel like a proper grown-up working girl, she added to herself as she strode toward town with Waif happily trying to lick her chin.

It had rained in the night again, but now it was one of those mornings of pale blue sky and huge white clouds. The mountains were silky blues and greens, and in the town, the sun glittered off wet cobbles and flared on the river. Charmain felt very contented. She was really looking forward to a day of sorting papers and chatting with the King.

As she crossed Royal Square, the sun glared so off the golden roof of the Royal Mansion that Charmain was forced to look down at the cobbles. Waif blinked and ducked and then jumped as a loud squealing sound came from the Mansion.

“Look at me!
Look at me!
”

Charmain looked, found her eyes full of tears from the dazzle, and looked again under a hand spared from Waif. The child Twinkle was sitting astride the golden roof, fully a hundred feet in the
air, waving merrily to her. He almost overbalanced doing it. At the sight, Charmain forgot all the unkind thoughts she had had about children yesterday. She dumped Waif on the cobbles and ran for the Mansion door, where she clattered at the great knocker and rang the bell furiously.

“That little boy!” she gasped at Sim when he slowly and creakily opened the door. “Twinkle. He’s sitting on the roof! Someone
has
to get him down!”

“Is that so?” said Sim. He tottered out onto the steps. Charmain had to wait while he tottered to a place where he could see the roof and craned shakily upward. “Indeed he is, miss,” he agreed. “Little demon. He’ll fall. That roof is as slippery as ice.”

Charmain was jigging with impatience by then. “Send someone to fetch him
in
! Quickly!”

“I don’t know who,” Sim said slowly. “Nobody much in this Mansion climbs too well. I
could
send Jamal, I suppose, but with only the one eye his balance is not too good.”

Waif was prancing about, yapping to be carried up the steps. Charmain ignored her. “Then send
me,”
she said. “Just tell me how to get there. Now. Before he slides off sideways.”

“Good notion,” Sim agreed. “You take the stairs at the end of the hall, miss, and keep on going up. Last flight’s wooden and you’ll find a small door—”

Charmain waited for no more. Leaving Waif to fend for herself, she raced off down the damp stone corridor until she came to the lobby with the stone stairs. There she began to climb for dear life, with her glasses bouncing on her chest and her footsteps ringing round the walls. Up she went, two long flights, her mind filled with horrible thoughts of a small body plummeting down and hitting the cobbles with…well…a
splash
, just about where she had left Waif. Panting hard, she hurried up a third, narrower flight. It seemed endless. Then she came to wooden stairs and clattered up those, almost out of breath. They seemed endless too. At last she came to a small wooden door. Praying she was still in time, Charmain flung open the door onto a blaze of sunlight and gold.

“I fort you were never coming,” Twinkle said
from the middle of the roof. He was wearing a pale blue velvet suit and his golden hair blazed as bright as the roof. He seemed perfectly calm, more like a strayed angel than a small boy in trouble on a roof.

“Are you very frightened?” Charmain panted anxiously. “Hold on very tight and don’t move and I’ll crawl out and get you.”

“Pleathe do that,” Twinkle said politely.

He doesn’t know the danger he’s in! Charmain thought. I shall have to keep very calm. Very cautiously, she climbed out through the wooden door and maneuvered until she was sitting astride the roof like Twinkle. It was highly uncomfortable. Charmain did not know which was worse: the fact that the tin tiles were hot, wet, sharp, and slippery, or the way the roof seemed to be cutting her in two. When she snatched a sideways look at Royal Square, far, far below, she had to remind herself, very seriously, that she had worked a spell only three days ago that had saved her from the lubbock and
proved
that she could fly. She might be able to grab Twinkle round his waist and float down with him.

Here she realized that Twinkle was moving backward away from her as she worked her way toward him. “Stop that!” she said. “Don’t you know how dangerous this is?”

“Of
courthe
I do,” Twinkle retorted. “Heighth thcare me thilly. But thith ith the only plathe where I can talk to you without anyone overhearing. Jutht get yourthelf to the middle of the roof where I don’t have to thout. And be quick. Printheth Hilda hath hired a nurthemaid for Morgan and me. The wretched girl will be along any minute now.”

This sounded so grown-up that Charmain blinked and stared at him. Twinkle smiled blindingly back, all big blue eyes and enchanting rosy lips. “Are you an infant genius, or something?” she asked him.

“Well, I am
now
,” Twinkle said. “When I wath
really
thix yearth old, I wath about average, I think. With a thtrong gift for magic, of courthe. Move along, can’t you.”

“I’m trying.” Charmain set herself to shunting along the roof, until she was only a foot or so away from the child. “So what are we supposed to be
talking about?” she snapped into his face.

“Withard Norland firtht,” Twinkle said. “They tell me you know him.”

“Not really,” Charmain said. “He’s my great-aunt-by-marriage’s great-uncle. I’m keeping house for him while he’s ill.” She did not feel like mentioning Peter.

“And what ith hith houthe like?” Twinkle asked. He added chattily, “I live in a moving cathtle mythelf. Doeth Norland’th houthe move?”

“No,” said Charmain. “But there’s a door in the middle that takes you to about a hundred different rooms. They say Wizard Melicot made it.”

“Ah. Melicot,” Twinkle piped. He seemed very pleased. “Then I’ll probably need to come and thee it, whatever Calthifer thayth. Ith that all right?”

“I suppose so,” Charmain said. “Why?”

“Becauthe,” Twinkle explained, “Thophie, Calthifer, and I have been hired to find out what became of the gold in the King’th treathury. At leatht, we
fink
that’th what they’re wanting, but they’re not being very clear. Half the time, they
theem to be thaying that what they’ve lotht ith thomething called the Elfgift and nobody knowth what thith Elfgift
ith.
And the Printheth has athked Thophie to find out what keepth happening to the money from the taxeth. And that theemth to be thomething different again. They’ve thold a lot of pictureth and other thingth and they’re thtill ath poor ath church mithe—you mutht have notithed.”

Charmain nodded. “I noticed. Couldn’t they ask for more taxes?”

“Or thell thome of their library,” Twinkle suggested. He shrugged. This made him sway about so precariously that Charmain shut her eyes. “Calthifer nearly got ordered to leave latht night when he thuggethted thelling thome bookth. And ath for taxeth, the King thayth High Norland people are well off and contented, and any extra tax money would probably jutht dithappear too. Tho that’th no good. What I want you to do—”

There was a shout down in the distance. Charmain opened her eyes and looked sideways. Quite a number of people had gathered in the
square, all shading their eyes and pointing to the roof. “Hurry up,” she said. “They’ll be calling out the Fire Brigade any minute now.”

“Do they have one?” Twinkle asked. “There’th thivilithed you are here.” He smiled another of his blazing smiles. “What we need you to do—”

“Are you two quite happy out here?” a voice asked close behind Charmain. It was so near and so sudden that Charmain jumped and all but overbalanced.

“Watch it, Thophie!” Twinkle said urgently. “You nearly had her off then.”

“That just goes to show what a harebrained scheme this was, even for you,” Sophie said. By the sound, she was leaning out of the wooden door, but Charmain did not dare turn round to look.

“Have you done the magic I gave you?” Twinkle asked, leaning sideways to talk round Charmain.

“Yes, I have,” Sophie said. “Everyone’s running around the Mansion fussing, Calcifer’s trying to stop that silly nursemaid having hysterics, and someone outside has just called the firemen in. I managed
to slip into the library with your spell in the confusion. Satisfied?”

“Perfectly.” Twinkle gave another angelic smile. “You thee how cunning my plan wath now.” He leaned toward Charmain. “What I’ve done,” he said to her, “ith to catht a thpell that maketh every book or piethe of paper that hath the thlightetht bearing on the King’th problemth light up with a light that only
you
can thee. When you thpot a lighted one, I want you to make a note of which it ith and what it thayth. Thecretly, of courthe. Thomething’th definitely wrong here, and we don’t want anyone to know what you’re doing, in cathe it getth to the perthon cauthing the trouble. Can you do that for uth?”

“I suppose so,” said Charmain. It sounded easy enough, although she did not like the idea of keeping secrets from the King. “When do you want my notes?”

“Tonight, please, before that princely heir gets here,” Sophie said from behind Charmain. “There’s no need to get
him
mixed up in this. And we’re very grateful and it truly is important. It’s the reason why we’re here. Now for goodness’ sake come inside,
both of you, before they start putting up ladders.”

“All right,” Twinkle piped. “Here we go. I may arrive in two halveth, mind you.”

“Serve you right,” said Sophie.

The roof started to buck and ripple under Charmain. She nearly screamed. But she clung on with both hands, reminding herself that she really could fly. Couldn’t she? And the roof jiggled and rippled her backward toward the way she had come out, while, in front of her, Twinkle jiggled onward too. In moments, Charmain felt Sophie take hold of her under her armpits and lug her backward, with a bit of a scramble, inside the Royal Mansion again. Sophie then leaned out and seized Twinkle and dumped him down beside Charmain.

Twinkle looked soulfully up at Charmain. “Back to infanthy again,” he said, sighing. “You won’t give me away, will you?”

“Oh, cut out the nonsense,” Sophie said. “Charmain’s all right.” She said to Charmain, “His name’s Howl, really, and he’s enjoying himself quite disgustingly much, having his second childhood.
Come along, my little man.” She swept Twinkle up under one arm and carried him away down the stairs. There was a lot of kicking and screaming.

Charmain followed them, shaking her head.

On the main landing halfway down, everyone in the Mansion seemed to be gathered—including a number of people Charmain had not seen before—with Calcifer bobbing this way and that among them. Even the King was there, carrying Waif in an absent-minded way. Princess Hilda pushed aside a fat young woman, who was holding Morgan and sobbing, and shook Charmain’s hand.

“My dear Miss Charming, thank you so
very
much. We were in such a panic. Sim, go and tell the firemen we don’t need the ladders and we
certainly
don’t need the hoses.”

Charmain could hardly hear her. Waif had seen Charmain, and she promptly leaped from the King’s arms, yapping with hysterical relief that Charmain was
safe.
From somewhere in the background Jamal’s dog answered with mournful howlings. The fat nursemaid went “Sniff…hooh!” Morgan bellowed,
“Oof!
Oof!
” and everyone else jabbered. In the distance, Twinkle was yelling, “I am
not
naughty! I wath vewwy fwightened, I tell you!”

Charmain cut down some of the noise by scooping Waif up. Princess Hilda silenced most of the rest by clapping her hands and saying, “Back to work, everyone. Nancy, take Morgan away before he deafens us all and make it very clear to him that he is
not
going out on the roof too. Sophie dear, can you shut Twinkle up?”

Everyone moved away. Twinkle went “I am not a naughty—” and then stopped as if a hand had been clapped across his mouth. In next to no time, Charmain found herself walking down the rest of the stairs with the King, on the way to the library, with Waif ecstatically trying to lick her chin.

“It takes me right back,” the King remarked. “I got out on the roof several times when I was a boy. Never failed to cause a silly panic. Firemen nearly hosed me off once by mistake. Boys will be boys, my dear. Are you ready to get down to work, or will you want to sit and recover a bit?”

“No, I’m fine,” Charmain assured him.

She felt completely at home today as she settled into her seat in the library, surrounded by the smell of old books, with Waif toasting her tummy at the brazier and the King sitting opposite investigating a ragged pile of old diaries. So peaceful was it that Charmain all but forgot about Twinkle’s spell. She became immersed in peeling apart a damp pile of old letters. They were all from a long-ago prince who was breeding horses and wanted his mother to coax more money out of the King. The prince was just feelingly describing the beauties of the new foal his best mare had given birth to, when Charmain looked up to see the fire demon flickering slowly this way and that around the library.

The King looked up too. “Good morning, Calcifer,” he said courteously. “Is there something you need?”

“Just exploring,” Calcifer answered in his small crackling voice. “I understand now why you might not want to sell these books.”

“Indeed,” said the King. “Tell me, do fire demons read much?”

“Not generally,” Calcifer replied. “Sophie reads to me quite often. I like the kind of story with puzzles in, where you have to guess who did the murder. Have you any of those in here?”