Just as the last drop of Effie was about to be squeezed out, the whole process seemed to begin to rewind. Slowly . . . slowly . . . then fasterfasterfaster. She was re-joining herself, being somehow put back together. She didn’t want to go back, and yet somehow she did. There were still things she had to accomplish – no, that was the wrong word – but there was a need for Effie to stay Effie. As long as she remembered that she didn’t need anything to prop herself up. And that this was what was waiting for her. Some time in the future, after she had become a wizard and lived for hundreds of years in the Otherworld, growing wiser and wiser: this. Living in bliss for ever and ever.
When she opened her eyes, the woman in rags had gone and Effie was standing outside Wanda’s once more wearing her cape and her Sword of Light necklace. Her Ring of the True Hero was on her finger. She bent her knees slightly and then experimentally jumped in the air, to see if . . . Yes, it was different. She could jump higher. She had a slightly altered relationship with gravity. She could . . . Effie pirouetted once, twice. It felt good. Different. She jumped in the air and spun. She ran and took a leap, which sent her flying through the air. She ran up the side of a wall and then somersaulted before landing again in front of Wanda’s. Anyone watching would have thought that she was practising to play the lead in the latest flying-martial-arts film or some magical-realist street-dance production. But no one was watching. Everyone was looking at the sky.
‘I’ve always wanted to ride a broomstick,’ said Neptune. ‘I had a feeling it was my destiny.’
‘Well, hold tight,’ said Raven. ‘It doesn’t look very safe up there.’
It was true. The effect of the Bermuda Triangle, the Northern Lights and the Luminiferous Ether moving across the Atlantic was being felt far and wide. And they were getting closer. There were tornadoes and tidal waves and freak events. In one child’s back garden a snowman had been swept into the blizzard, dismantled, and then put back together again. The only difference was that his carrot-nose had been put back the wrong way around.
The sky glowed with the otherworldly colours of the Northern Lights. It was having fun, putting on a great show for everyone, probably for the last time. The Luminiferous Ether was also feeling a bit fin de siècle and had started granting spells haphazardly as it came across them. Even silly spells, like the one from Maddie, age fourteen, to please make Oliver fall in love with her. And the one from her mother Evie, who’d introduced Maddie to this concept of asking the universe for what you want in the form of a simple spell. She’d asked for a complicated jumble of things over the years: better skin, a great body, a fulfilling career, love, glamour . . . All this was now to be granted despite Maddie and Evie having between them about the same amount of M-currency as a small pot of live yogurt.
Raven pushed her broomstick into the sky. It was darker up there than she’d ever seen it. Beyond the Northern Lights and all the dramatic weather was . . . Wait. Something up here felt familiar.
Raven flew higher: higher than she normally would.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Neptune.
‘I can sense . . . It’s hard to describe,’ said Raven, ‘but I think I have a friend up here.’
‘A friend?’
‘OK. Well, not exactly a friend. I’ve never met it. But I’ve written to it quite a lot . . .’
The Luminiferous Ether had come out of its usual dimension and was rampaging through ours like a kind uncle who has drunk too much sherry. The peculiarities of space and time meant that the Luminiferous Ether had manifested in three dimensions as something that resembled a stick of rock, although approximately three miles high and four metres across. It was an unstable-looking pink on the outside, with an extra-terrestrial green stripe spiralling down it.
It was in the mood to grant wishes. But where had everyone gone? And now who was this, suddenly flying through the night sky on a small broomstick with a black cat sitting at the end of it? Could it be? Well. What joy! It was the Luminiferous Ether’s favourite correspondent, Raven Wilde. She always wrote such polite letters, always enquired after its health, always asked for such interesting, selfless things. Well, thought the Luminiferous Ether, she was certainly in the right place at the right time. Well, sort of. After all, it wasn’t that safe for any human to be in the sky at this moment, with ball lightning flashing more regularly and a tornado just starting up over the Mrs Joyful School.
The Old Town was really being hammered. There were Blue Jets, Red Sprites, tennis-ball-sized hail, a couple of fire devils, and one large example of the phenomenon known in warmer climes as a willy-willy, a spinning vortex of dust and debris that had unfortunately got hold of the Blessed Bartolo sports dome and deposited it far out to sea.
The Luminiferous Ether quickly created a large, soft lenticular cloud and put his friend and her cat inside it. They would now be safe while they told the Luminiferous Ether exactly what they wanted.
Orwell Bookend was having a lovely evening so far. It didn’t matter that it looked as if the world was going to end outside. Orwell was one of those people who did not really believe in weather and so the massive hailstones currently pulverising the neighbourhood didn’t bother him at all. It was cosy inside anyway, with the fire dancing in the grate and baby Luna eating a bowl of custard while everyone else had thick chestnut soup and homemade focaccia.
Terrence Deer-Hart had complimented Orwell on his choice of wine but then looked baffled and a little afraid when Orwell and Cait began talking about all the notable children’s books they’d read in their lifetimes. Any talk about other authors simply drove Terrence mad. He sort of felt like poking out his own eyes.
Not long after six, Effie looked at her watch. Wasn’t Terrence supposed to be kidnapping her? She wondered how he was going to do it. Whatever he had planned wasn’t going to work anyway, even if he did remember his mission. Effie was full of power and, with her ring on, had the strength of several adults. It was becoming clear that if she wanted to infiltrate the Diberi, she was going to have to kidnap herself.
‘I’ve got to go back to the university,’ Effie said, standing up. ‘I’m helping set up for the Midwinter Lecture.’
‘In this weather?’ said Cait.
‘It’s only a bit of hail,’ said Orwell.
‘A bit of hail!’ said Cait. ‘Orwell, have you looked out of the window lately? There was an actual tornado before.’
‘It’s just weather. Weather never hurt anyone.’
Cait rolled her eyes.
‘Anyway, Terrence said he’d give me a lift,’ said Effie. ‘Didn’t you, Terrence?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, I’ll take Effie back to the university.’
‘All right,’ said Orwell. ‘Well, we’ll see you at the lecture.’
‘If they survive,’ said Cait. ‘If we survive.’
‘Don’t be so dramatic,’ said Orwell.
‘I’m going to go and set up,’ said Jupiter Peacock, checking his pompadour again in Lady Tchainsaw’s massive mirror. ‘I believe we have most things in place. Lady T, can you go and organise the cats?’
‘I am allergic to them,’ she said. ‘Vile creatures.’
‘Professor G?’
Gotthard Forestfloor sighed. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘But this had better work. Lady Tchainsaw, you stay here and supervise the pedesis. And then once everything has been done you can bring the girl to us.’
Effie was lying on Lady Tchainsaw’s black velvet chaise longue pretending to be unconscious. Her hands and feet were tied together with silk scarves. Lying on a vast bear rug on the ground, Terrence Deer-Hart really was unconscious. He’d drunk the vial of fluid and taken the little pill that Lady Tchainsaw had given him. Now he had found himself in some sort of incomprehensible landscape with some strange voice telling him he had two choices. What did this mean? He knew he was supposed to be entering the girl’s mind to learn how she went to some library in the Otherworld. But how was he supposed to get in?
You now have two choic
es, said the woman, again.
What does that mean? Terrence asked her back.
You can go into one of the structures around you, the voice explained. They represent the consciousness of people near you on the physical plane.
Terrence looked around him. There was a vast, avant-garde building with Russian domes and a black marble exterior. The only other building he could see apart from that was a small yellow-brick townhouse with the word LIBRARY on it and a poster advertising a special display of adventure stories. That must represent the girl. So, all he had to do was go in through the antique revolving door and . . .
Effie felt Terrence Deer-Hart entering her mind. She hadn’t been entirely sure what she was going to do with him, but it became immediately obvious once she sensed his empty, troubled soul. The first thing she did was mentally flip him on his back, like a karate throw-down of the mind. Terrence’s consciousness now just watched as Effie – on the physical plane – removed the silk scarves from her arms and legs using only her mind to do so and, in a very deft manoeuvre, then got up off the chaise longue and retied the scarves around Lady Tchainsaw’s arms and legs.
How was this achieved so easily? For one thing, Lady Tchainsaw wasn’t watching properly because she was busy applying bright red lipstick and looking at herself in the mirror. And second, because Effie made herself invisible while she was doing it. Using the Flow also meant Effie could do things at lightning speed. All Lady Tchainsaw felt was a mild tickle around her wrists and ankles before Effie used a sleeping spell she suddenly found she knew.
‘What are you doing?’ Terrence said, inside Effie’s mind.
‘Defeating you and your stupid new friends,’ said Effie. ‘Now, come with me. I’ve got something to show you.’
Terrence didn’t like the sound of this, but he was still trapped inside Effie’s mind as she walked to the centre of the room and started a pirouette that turned into a series of fouettés which launched her into the air, until she was spinning and spinning and . . . There. She was back in the Flow. She could stay in it for far longer now. And it wasn’t even about topping up her power; it was just about spending time in this perfect, joyous, heavenly place where everybody was one and . . .
‘Let me go!’ Terrence shouted inside Effie’s head.
‘No,’ she said. ‘You come into my consciousness, this is what you get.’
‘But I can’t stand it,’ he said.
‘Feel the peace, and the joy,’ said Effie. ‘That’s what you get when you try to attack me.’
‘Please!’ wailed Terrence.
Effie kept him in the Flow long enough that the peace and the joy seeped into every part of Terrence and started to take him over. And then she took a deep breath and booted him out of her mind.
24
The Grand Lecture Theatre was filling with people suffering from varying levels of exposure and trauma, depending on where they’d been able to park. Most of them had wet hair and feet; some people had mild frostbite. As eight o’clock approached there were still a number of empty seats belonging to people who had, sadly, been struck by lightning or fallen in the large sinkhole that had opened up outside the Esoteric Emporium. Others had been knocked out by the enormous hailstones. This was certainly the biggest storm the Old Town had ever experienced.
Undeterred by the reduced size of his audience, Jupiter Peacock stepped forward to begin his lecture. The Vice Chancellor of the university had been due to introduce him but had been held up somewhere because of the weather. Just as JP was about to begin speaking, a woman strode onto the stage wearing an asymmetric hemp skirt and a patchwork recycled-cotton top. It was Hazel Bottle.
‘Aha,’ said Jupiter Peacock. ‘It looks as if my host would like to say a few words.’ He narrowed his eyes and looked pointedly at his watch.
Hazel Bottle took the microphone stand from him.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘As many of you know, our family has been hosting Professor Jupiter Peacock this past week. We thought it would be a great honour to have such a distinguished academic to stay, and I confess that I hoped that he would speak kindly of our hospitality so that I might be in with a chance of winning Host of the Year.’ She paused. ‘However, our guest behaved so disgracefully while he was staying with us that I want it on record that my family would not accept any honour or award that comes from him, or from anything he said or did. While he was in our house, eating our food, enjoying our heating and electricity, he was constantly betraying us. This vile man threatened my daughter repeatedly, telling her that if she didn’t do what he said he would not vote for us. Our daughter did not tell us about his dreadful behaviour because she didn’t want to upset us, or ruin Midwinter, or cause trouble. I urge all mothers out there to make it clear to your children that no matter what is happening in your life you would want to know IMMEDIATELY if someone was threatening or bullying your child. It wouldn’t matter if it was my birthday, or I’d had a hard day at work, or my father was ill, or if we’d just had some bad news. NOTHING is more important than my daughter’s safety. I hope she realises that now, and that this was in no way her fault.’
Lexy smiled gratefully at Hazel from the front row, where she was sitting with Nurse Underwood.
‘And any children out there who are worried about something that is happening to them and for some reason really can’t tell their parents – maybe because it is their parents who are doing it, or maybe they don’t even have parents – your teachers care about you. Tell one of them. Just find an adult you trust and tell them as soon as possible. Perhaps even a librarian? Don’t wait for the right moment, or try to negotiate in any way with your abuser. Just tell someone.’
The audience burst into hearty applause. Except for the hairy librarian from Special Collections, who didn’t want children to speak to him under any circumstances. Of course, if anyone ever did tell him something like that he’d have to take action and have it stopped. It would totally ruin his day, but perhaps that wouldn’t matter so much in the scheme of things. However annoying children were, they still needed to be protected. He joined the applause.
This wasn’t how Jupiter Peacock had been hoping his lecture would start. But he found he couldn’t stop the woman from speaking. His magic had been frozen somehow.
‘Gosh,’ said Orwell Bookend to the person sitting next to him – the maths teacher from the Mrs Joyful School. ‘Does this mean there won’t be a lecture after all? I had such a good question.’
All eyes were on Jupiter Peacock. What was he going to say? What was he going to do? The audience fell silent.
And then there was an almost imperceptible popping sound.
A bit like a cork coming out of a tiny ceramic bottle.
Quantum physics teaches us that at any moment in time there are countless versions of reality that are possible, depending on the choices we make. For example, as Hieronymus Moon squeezed out of his bottle for the first time in three thousand years, ready to appear on the stage of the Grand Lecture Theatre in the Old Town University with the one aim of denouncing the latest translator of his great work, he could have been greeted by quite a different scene.
The scene that could have greeted him had one hundred cats caught up in a net hanging from the ceiling. It had Lexy Bottle manacled and drugged and dressed all in white with a knife at her throat. It had poor Maximilian bound and gagged and held hostage so that Effie would do whatever the Diberi wanted. In this once possible version of reality, Raven had never met Neptune and had never had her very useful chat with the Luminiferous Ether, and by this point – 8.05 p.m. – the Bermuda Triangle had already consumed most of the audience.
In this alternative version of the present – the one that would have occurred had Lexy not been so brave, and had Effie not been in the Flow, and had Maximilian not been secretly attending the University of the Underworld quite so regularly, and had Raven not found her familiar, and had Wolf not learned to unbind people – Hazel Bottle had not made her speech, and JP was stand
ing resplendent in his academic gown, ready to tell this audience precisely how they were all about to die.
But that version of reality had not happened.
In fact, the scene was quite different. As the old red velvet curtains were drawn apart, an entirely different show was about to begin.
First, the audience saw the spirit of Hieronymus Moon floating up towards the ceiling where, like a perfectly timed special effect, a thunderbolt just happened to strike the roof of the Old Town University in such a way that a little hole appeared for Hieronymus Moon to float through. He looked like an illustration from a book about Ancient Times, but with a big, peaceful smile. He was free, at long last. Free from having to live inside a bottle in the possession of that complete idiot. As he approached the hole in the ceiling, his spirit-form turned and addressed the audience.
‘I have not been able to experience the world directly for thousands of years,’ said Hieronymus Moon. ‘But it is sad to see that some things never change. I want to endorse what that nice woman just said about children who are being abused. This man’ – he pointed a ghostly finger at Jupiter Peacock – ‘is not just a child abuser, although that is bad enough. He has kept my spirit prisoner in a ceramic bottle for hundreds of years, taking over my captivity from the man who owned me before him. He has used dark alchemy to keep himself alive longer than the normal human lifespan. And his spell worked as long as he had me in my bottle, and as long as he kept my eternal soul from the Flow. Well, now I depart at long last, and sadly, therefore, so must he. Goodbye, Jupiter Peacock – the very worst translator I ever had.’
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