In which Sophie becomes Howl’s old mother

Sophie did not see much point in blackeningHowl’s name to the King, now that the Witch had caught up withhim. But Howl said it was more important than ever. “I shallneed everything I’ve got just to escape the Witch,” hesaid. “I can’t have the King after me as well.”

So the following afternoon Sophie put on her new clothes and satfeeling very fine, if rather stiff, waiting for Michael to get readyand for Howl to finish in the bathroom. While she waited, she toldCalcifer about the strange country where Howl’s family lived.It took her mind off the King.

Calcifer was very interested. “I knew he came from foreignparts,” he said. “But this sounds like another world.Clever of the Witch to send the curse in from there. Very clever allround. That’s magic I admire, using something that existsanyway and turning it round into a curse. I did wonder about it whenyou and Michael were reading it the other day. That fool Howl toldher too much about himself.”

Sophie gazed at Calcifer’s thin blue face. It did notsurprise her to find Calcifer admired the curse, any more than itsurprised her when he called Howl a fool. He was always insultingHowl. But she never could work out if Calcifer really hated Howl.Calcifer looked so evil anyway that it was hard to tell.

Calcifer moved his orange eyes to look into Sophie’s.“I’m scared too,” he said. “I shall sufferwith Howl if the Witch catches him. If you don’t break thecontract before she does, I won’t be able to help you atall.”

Before Sophie could ask more, Howl came dashing out of thebathroom looking his very finest, scenting the room with roses andyelling for Michael. Michael clattered downstairs in his new bluevelvet. Sophie stood up and collected her trusty stick. It was timeto go.

“You look wonderfully rich and stately!” Michael saidto her.

“She does me credit,” said Howl. “apart fromthat awful old stick.”

“Some people,” said Sophie, “are thoroughlyself-centered. This stick goes with me. I need it for moralsupport.”

Howl looked at the ceiling, but he did not argue.

They took their stately way into the streets of Kingsbury. Sophieof course looked back to see what the castle was like here. She saw abig, arched gateway surrounding a small black door. The rest of thecastle seemed to be a blank stretch of plastered wall between twocarved stone houses.

“Before you ask,” said Howl, “it’s reallyjust a disused stable. This way.”

They walked through the streets, looking at least as fine as anyof the passerbys. Not that many people were about. Kingsbury was along way south and it was a bakingly hot day there. The pavementsshimmered. Sophie discovered another disadvantage to being old: youfelt queer in hot weather. The elaborate buildings wavered in frontof her eyes. She was annoyed, because she wanted to look at theplace, but all she had was a dim impression of golden domes and tallhouses.

“By the way,” Howl said, “Mrs. Pentstemmon willcall you Mrs. Pendragon. Pendragon’s the name I go underhere.”

“Whatever for?” said Sophie.

“For disguise,” said Howl. “Pendragon’s alovely name, much better than Jenkins.”

“I get by quite well with a plain name,” Sophie saidas they turned into a blessedly narrow, cool street.

“We can’t all be Mad Hatters,” said Howl.

Mrs. Pentstemmon’s house was gracious and tall, near the endof the narrow street. It had orange trees in tubs on either side ofits handsome front door. This door was opened by an elderly footmanin black velvet, who led them into a wonderfully cool black-and-whitecheckered marble hall, where Michael tried secretly to wipe sweat offhis face. Howl, who always seemed to be cool, treated the footman asan old friend and made jokes to him.

The footman passed them on to a page boy in red velvet. Sophie, asthe boy led them ceremoniously up polished stairs, began to see whythis made good practice for meeting the King. She felt as if she werein a palace already. When the boy ushered them into a shaded drawingroom, she was sure even a palace could not be this elegant.Everything in the room was blue and gold and white, and small andfine. Mrs. Pentstemmon was finest of all. She was tall and thin, andshe sat bolt upright in a blue-and-gold embroidered chair, supportingherself rigidly with one hand, in a gold-mesh mitten, on agold-topped cane. She wore old-gold silk, in a very stiff andold-fashioned style, finished off with an old-gold headdress notunlike a crown, which tied in a large old-gold bow beneath her gaunteagle face. She was the finest and most frightening lady Sophie hadever seen.

“Ah, my dear Howell,” she said, holding out agold-mesh mitten.

Howl bent and kissed the mitten, as he was obviously supposed to.He did it very gracefully, but it was rather spoiled from the backview by Howl flapping his other hand furiously at Michael behind hisback. Michael, a little too slowly, realized he was supposed to standby the door beside the page boy. He backed there in a hurry, only toopleased to get as far away from Mrs. Pentstemmon as he could.

“Mrs. Pentstemmon, allow me to present my old mother,”Howl said, waving his hand at Sophie. Since Sophie felt just likeMichael, Howl had to flap his hand at her too.

“Charmed. Delighted,” said Mrs. Pentstemmon, and sheheld her gold mitten out to Sophie. Sophie was not sure if Mrs.Pentstemmon meant her to kiss the mitten as well, but she could notbring herself to try. She laid her own hand on the mitten instead.The hand under it felt like an old, cold claw. After feeling it,Sophie was quite surprised that Mrs. Pentstemmon was alive.“Forgive my not standing up, Mrs. Pendragon,” Mrs.Pentstemmon said. “My health is not so good. It forced me toretire from teaching three years ago. Pray sit down, both ofyou.”

Trying not to shake with nerves, Sophie sat grandly in theembroidered chair opposite Mrs. Pentstemmon’s, supportingherself on her stick in what she hoped was the same elegant way. Howlspread himself gracefully in a chair next to it. He looked quite athome, and Sophie envied him.

“I am eighty-six,” Mrs. Pentstemmon announced.“How old are you, my dear Mrs. Pendragon?

“Ninety,” Sophie said, that being the first highnumber that came into her head.

“So old?” Mrs. Pentstemmon said with what may havebeen slight, stately envy. “How lucky you are to move so nimblystill.”

“Oh, yes, she’s so wonderfully nimble,” Howlagreed, “that sometimes there’s no stoppingher.”

Mrs. Pentstemmon gave him a look which told Sophie she had been ateacher at least as fierce as Miss Angorian. “I am talking toyour mother,” she said. “I daresay she is as proud of youas I am. We are two old ladies who both had a hand in forming you.You are, one might say, our joint creation.”

“Don’t you think I did any of me myself, then?”Howl asked. “Put in just a few touches of my own?”

“A few, and those not altogether to my liking,” Mrs.Pentstemmon replied. “But you will not wish to sit here andhear yourself being discussed. You will go down and sit on theterrace, taking your page boy with you, where Hunch will bring youboth a cool drink. Go along.”

If Sophie had not been so nervous herself, she might have laughedat the expression on Howl’s face. He had obviously notexpected this to happen at all. But he got up, with only a lightshrug, made a slight warning face at Sophie, and shooed Michael outof the room ahead of him. Mrs. Pentstemmon turned her rigid body veryslightly to watch them go. Then she nodded at the page boy, whoscuttled out of the room too. After that, Mrs. Pentstemmon turnedherself back toward Sophie, and Sophie felt more nervous thanever.

“I prefer him with black hair,” Mrs. Pentstemmonannounced. “That boy is going to the bad.”

“Who? Michael?” Sophie said, bewildered.

“Not the servitor,” said Mrs. Pentstemmon. “I donot think he is clever enough to cause me concern. I am talking aboutHowell, Mrs. Pendragon.”

“Oh,” said Sophie, wondering why Mrs. Pentstemmon onlysaid “going.” Howl had surely arrived at the bad longago.

“Take his whole appearance,” Mrs. Pentstemmon saidsweepingly. “Look at his clothes.”

“He is always very careful about his appearance,”Sophie agreed, wondering why she was putting it so mildly.

“And always was. I am careful about my appearance too, and Isee not harm in that,” said Mrs. Pentstemmon. “But whatcall has he to be walking around in a charmed suit? It is a dazzlingattraction charm, directed at ladies—very well done, I admit, and barely detectable even to my trained eyes, since it appears to have been darned into the seams—and one which will render him almost irresistible to ladies. This represents a downward trend into black arts which must surely cause you some motherly concern, Mrs.Pendragon.”

Sophie thought uneasily about the gray-and-scarlet suit. She haddarned the seams without noticing it had anything particular aboutit. But Mrs. Pentstemmon was an expert on magic, and Sophie was onlyan expert on clothes.

Mrs. Pentstemmon put both gold mittens on top of her stick andcanted her stiff body so that both her trained and piercing eyesstared into Sophie’s. Sophie felt more and more nervous anduneasy. “My life is nearly over,” Mrs. Pentstemmonannounced. “I have felt death tiptoeing close for some timenow.”

“Oh, I’m sure that isn’t so,” Sophie said,trying to sound soothing. It was hard to sound like anything withMrs. Pentstemmon staring at her like that.

“I assure you it is so,” said Mrs. Pentstemmon.“This is why I was anxious to see you, Mrs. Pendragon. Howell,you see, was my last pupil and by far my best. I was about to retirewhen he came to me out of a foreign land. I thought my work was donewhen I trained Benjamin Sullivan—whom you probably know better asWizard Suliman, rest his soul! —and procured him the post of RoyalMagician. Oddly enough, he came from the same country as Howell. ThenHowell came, and I saw at a glance that he had twice the imaginationand twice the capabilities, and, though I admit he had some faults ofcharacter, I knew he was a force for good. Good, Mrs. Pendragon. Butwhat is he now?”

“What indeed?” Sophie said.

“Something has happened to him,” Mrs. Pentstemmonsaid, still staring piercingly at Sophie. “And I am determinedto put that right before I die.”

“What do you think has happened?” Sophie askeduncomfortably.

“I must rely on you to tell me that,” said Mrs. Pentstemmon. “My feeling is that he has gone the same way as the Witch of the Waste. They tell me she was not wicked once—though I have this only on hearsay, since she is older that either of us and keeps herself young by her arts. Howell has gifts in the same order as hers. It seems as if those of high ability cannot resist some extra, dangerous stroke of cleverness, which results in a fatal flaw and begins a slow decline to evil. Do you, by any chance, have a clue what it might be?”

Calcifer’s voice came into Sophie’s mind, saying,“The contract isn’t doing either of us any good in thelong run.” She felt a little chilly, in spite of the heat ofthe day blowing through the open windows of the shaded, elegant room.“Yes,” she said. “He’s made some sort ofcontract with his fire demon.”

Mrs. Pentstemmon’s hands shook a little on her stick.“That will be it. You must break that contract, Mrs.Pendragon.”

“I would if I knew how,” Sophie said.

“Surely your own maternal feelings and your own strong magicgift will tell you how,” Mrs. Pentstemmon said. “I havebeen looking at you, Mrs. Pendragon, though you may not havenoticed—”

“Oh, I noticed, Mrs. Pentstemmon,” Sophie said.

“—and I like your gift,” said Mrs. Pentstemmon.“It brings life to things, such as that stick in your hand,which you have evidently talked to, to the extent that it has becomewhat the layman would call a magic wand. I think you would not findit too hard to break that contract.”

“Yes, but I need to know what the terms of it are,”Sophie said. “Did Howl tell you I was a witch, because if hedid—”

“He did not. There is no need to be coy. You can rely on my experience to know these things,” said Mrs. Pentstemmon. Then, to Sophie’s relief, she shut her eyes. It was like a strong light being turned off. “I do not know, nor do I wish to know about such contracts,” she said. Her cane wobbled again, as if she might be shuddering. Her mouth quirked into a line, suggesting she had unexpectedly bitten on a peppercorn. “But I now see,” she said, “what has happened to the Witch. She made a contract with a fire demon and, over the years, that demon has taken control of her. Demons do not understand good and evil. But they can be bribed into a contract, provided the human offers them something valuable, something only humans have. This prolongs the life of both human and demon, and the human gets the demon’s magic power to add to his or her own.” Mrs. Pentstemmon opened her eyes again. “That is all I can bear to say on the subject,” she said, “except to advise you to find out what that demon got. Now I must bid you farewell. I have to rest awhile.”

And like magic, which it probably was, the door opened and the page boy came in to usher Sophie out of the room. Sophie was extremely glad to go. She was all but squirming with embarrassment by then. She looked back at Mrs. Pentstemmon’s rigid, upright form as the door closed and wondered if Mrs. Pentstemmon would have made her feel this bad if she had really and truly been Howl’s old mother. Sophie rather thought she would. “I take my hat off to Howl for standing her as a teacher for more than a day!” she murmured to herself.

“Madam?” asked the page boy, thinking Sophie wastalking to him.

“I said go slowly down the stairs or I can’t keepup,” Sophie told him. Her knees were wobbling. “You youngboys dash about so,” she said.

The page boy took her slowly and considerately down the shinystairs. Halfway down, Sophie recovered enough from Mrs.Pentstemmon’s personality to think of some of the things Mrs.Pentstemmon had actually said. She had said Sophie was a witch. Oddlyenough, Sophie accepted this without any trouble at all. Thatexplained the popularity of certain hats, she thought. It explainedJane Farrier’s Count Whatsit. It possibly explained thejealously of the Witch of the Waste. It was as if Sophie had alwaysknown this. But she had thought it was not proper to have a magicgift because she was the eldest of three. Lettie had been far moresensible about such things.

Then she thought of the gray-and-scarlet suit and nearly felldownstairs with dismay. She was the one who had put the charm onthat. She could hear herself now, murmuring to it. “Built topull in the girls!” she had told it. And of course it did. Ithad charmed Lettie that day in the orchard. Yesterday, somewhatdisguised, it must have had its effect on Miss Angorian too.

Oh, dear! Sophie thought. I’ve gone and doubled the numberof hearts he’ll have broken! I must get that suit off himsomehow!

Howl, in that same suit, was waiting in the cool black-and-whitehall with Michael. Michael nudged Howl in a worried way as Sophiecame slowly down the stairs behind the page boy. Howl lookedsaddened. “You seem a bit ragged,” he said. “Ithink we’d better skip seeing the King. I’ll go blackenmy own name when I make your excuses. I can say my wicked ways havemade you ill. That could be true, from the look of you.”

Sophie certainly did not wish to see the King. But she thought ofwhat Calcifer had said. If the King commanded Howl to go into theWaste and the Witch caught him, Sophie’s own chance of beingyoung again would have gone too.

She shook her head. “After Mrs. Pentstemmon,” shesaid, “the King of Ingary will seem just like an ordinaryperson.”

Дата добавления: 2015-11-26