by Toby Forward
“Tell him she expects him to be brave,” said Jackbones.
Tadpole told him.
Frastfil nodded. He recovered his breathing. “Are you,” he said, with a sly look, “are you on our side?”
“Leave him,” said Jackbones. “Open the door. We’ve got better things to do.”
Tadpole followed Jackbones out.
“Come back!” Frastfil ordered him. “Come back.”
Jackbones kicked the door shut.
“Let’s find Cabbage,” he said. “If he’s alive, he’ll enjoy hearing about this.”
“That was fun,” said Jackbones.
He let his cloak fall aside and was clear to all now. Not that there was anyone but Tadpole to see him. Sometimes he was solid. Sometimes, as they walked along, Tadpole could see through him still. But he was a different Jackbones from the librarian.
“What’s wrong with him?” asked Tadpole. “Why was he grinning all the time?”
“Wants you to like him. Come on. My word, I feel remade. I should have left that library years ago.”
He bounced along ahead of Tadpole, thwacking his staff against the corridor walls and setting them booming. The globes overhead shivered and looked about to burst like boils.
“Won’t someone hear us?” asked Tadpole.
Jackbones stopped and the roffle ran into the back of him. There was a bit of a tangle, and once Jackbones had sorted it out he said, “Quite right. Should have thought. Quietly does it.” And he advanced with an exaggerated air of stealth that made Tadpole giggle again.
When Tadpole spoke again, he kept his voice to a whisper. “When Frastfil came, was the college the way it is in the book?”
“Oh, he was a very young man, then. And not at all promising. His grandfather or uncle or someone had been a very great wizard, or I doubt poor little Frastfil would ever have been made even a master here, certainly never the principal. No one believed that a relative of that great man could be as useless as Frastfil.”
“That seems stupid.”
They were going downstairs, circling narrow stone steps, Tadpole’s roffle pack banging against the walls.
“Way of the world,” said Jackbones. “Way of the world. Here we are.”
They were in a basement passageway, with racks of uniforms and books and equipment, and a counter for a storeman to stand behind.
“This is where Waterburn lived. Lives.”
“What? This place?”
“What’s wrong with it?”
Tadpole couldn’t find a way to explain that a great library was a fitting place for a wizard, but that an underground storeroom wasn’t. Jackbones saw it in his face.
“Don’t be fooled,” he said. “The person makes the place. The place doesn’t make the person.”
“I don’t understand.”
“If a doctor works in a cowshed, is he a cowman?”
Tadpole liked this. Roffles are trained in riddles from a very early age.
“Is he healing people or milking cows?”
Jackbones clapped him on the shoulder. “Good lad. Healing, of course.”
“Then he’s a doctor.”
“If a cowman sets himself up in a doctor’s house, is he a doctor?”
“Can he heal people?”
“No. But he can milk a cow if you bring it to him.”
“Then he’s not a doctor.”
“You’ve got it. You can put a fool like Frastfil behind a big desk, but he’ll still be a fool. If a great wizard like Cabbage chooses to work in a storeroom, then he’ll still be a great wizard. And you should find out why he’s there, rather than think he’s wrong.”
“Why is he here?”
“Always questions with roffles, isn’t it? Now, let’s see. It isn’t easy to find where he lives.”
Jackbones felt his way along the black wall opposite the shelves. Tadpole followed him. In the dim light it was difficult to tell, but he couldn’t see anything different about any part of the wall. Jackbones stopped a couple of times and felt more carefully, then moved on.
“It’s well hidden,” said Jackbones.
“What are we looking for?”
“A door. You won’t find it.”
This made Tadpole look even more carefully.
They reached a dead end.
“I’ve missed it,” said Jackbones. “We’ll have to turn back and try again.”
At least the walls were dry and free of slime. Tadpole followed, leaving a bigger space this time between himself and Jackbones. Not long after they’d started the second time, he found a place he remembered. It was a spot where the air seemed not to circulate, and he lingered there.
“What are you doing?” asked Jackbones.
“Sorry. Coming.”
Tadpole moved on.
“No. What were you doing?”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t being lazy. It’s just that there’s a place back there where the smell isn’t so bad.”
“Where? Show me.”
Tadpole retraced his steps. “Here it is.” He took a deep breath of the cleaner air.
“Good lad. Stand back.”
Jackbones struck the wall with his staff and muttered something. Where the wall had been, a curtain hung.
“We’re in,” said Jackbones.
He went through and Tadpole followed.
The stink melted away like frozen piss from a jakes in the sun. A few steps took them to a door. Jackbones knocked and went in without waiting to be invited.
For a moment, Tadpole thought it was another of those rooms like Flaxfield’s study, that existed in two places at the same time. He thought he was in Flaxfold’s kitchen again. Another glance told him that it was not the same room. The likeness was one of stone floor and oak beam, big table and bunches of fresh herbs, of plates and spices, pots and candlesticks. It was comfort and welcome and work and companionship.
“Is this how all wizards live?” he asked.
“Cabbage loved Flaxfold,” said Jackbones, as if that ought to do for an answer.
“Perhaps he died with her, in her kitchen.”
“I don’t think so.”
Jackbones moved around the room like a dog looking for rats. He trod lightly, held himself alert, ready. His eyes travelled over everything, giving it a general view. He let his gaze rest on a few things before he searched again. Sometimes he cast a shadow. Sometimes the light poured through him, leaving no mark.
“That’s different,” he said, pointing.
“How do you know?” asked Tadpole. The room was so full of interesting things it was hard to see how one difference could stand out.
“Oh, I came here a lot, in the old days. I helped him to set it up.” Jackbones crossed to a bookcase that held as many curios as books. “This is new,” he said.
Tadpole trotted over and stood on tiptoes to see. Jackbones lifted down a small, clay model of a cat.
“May I hold it?”
“Here you are. Don’t drop it.”
Tadpole cradled it in his hands. It was light, delicate, made with a sure hand that formed the clay into simple lines that captured the image perfectly.
“It’s small. I thought it would be a kitten when I saw it up there.”
“No. It’s an old cat.”
The bones of the hips were visible beneath the skin. The face carried years in its features.
“Put it on the table. Careful.”
Tadpole pushed aside a book and a cup and made room for the cat. Jackbones held his hand in the air over the cat’s head. He flexed his fingers and stars showered down, shimmering their slow way to the table and covering the cat.
A pink tongue appeared between the brown clay lips. It licked up a star. The eyes opened. The cat blinked. It lapped another star, and another.
“It likes to eat stars,” said Jackbones.
“I know. I saw it before.”
“Did you?”
“Waterburn fed it. He made them. How can you do it?”
T
he cat sat up and shook itself. It licked its fur, finding more stars to swallow. Standing up, it teased a star, lifted its paw delicately to its mouth and popped it in.
“May I stroke it?”
“You can try.”
Tadpole reached out a hand and touched the cat. There was nothing of clay about it now. It was all fur and eyes and teeth and tongue. He smiled. The cat paused, looked at Tadpole, hesitated, jumped up and landed in his arms.
“He likes you, child of Megapoir.”
Jackbones hadn’t spoken. Tadpole looked for another person in the room. It was empty.
“Who’s that?”
The cat patted Tadpole’s cheek with a soft paw. It licked his nose. The tongue was rough, as a normal cat’s. The tingling that it gave was quite new. Touched by starlight.
Jackbones shook his head. “I’ve never seen anyone — anyone — hold Cabbage’s cat before.”
Tadpole felt very proud. The cat snuggled up to him and purred.
“If his cat’s here, that must mean Cabbage is here, too,” said Tadpole.
The cat jumped out of his arms, licked a last star from the table and vanished.
“There’s your answer,” said Jackbones. “He’s not here.”
“We can look.”
“I’ve looked. He’s not.”
“What about the cat? Is it Cabbage, telling us he’s all right?”
“Perhaps. Or saying goodbye.”
“What do we do now?”
“We keep looking.”
The door moved. Tadpole stepped nearer to Jackbones. A nose appeared. For a second, Tadpole rejoiced that the memmont had found him. The nose was followed by a grey-brown face, drooping ears and a dog, half-in, curious, and not a little frightened. Tadpole sighed. The memmont would be safe enough. Probably. Meanwhile the dog stayed half-in, waiting to see how it would be received.
“That you, Tim?” said Jackbones.
The dog came in and stood next to him, not touching, his head down. Tadpole put out a hand to stroke him and the dog flinched and backed away.
“I won’t hurt you,” said Tadpole.
Tim let him put his hand on his neck and stroke a little.
“Whose dog is he?”
“No one’s. He was Sam’s friend, once. And Tam liked him. Then Smedge—”
Tim twisted his head round and started to howl.
“Sorry,” said Jackbones. He stroked Tim. “Smedge hurt you, didn’t he? Do you want me to see if I can make it better?”
Tim pulled away and cowered. He dropped his head lower still, bent his legs and shivered.
“That dog’s been whipped,” said Tadpole. “Who would do that? Who would hurt an animal? That’s terrible.”
“I started to tell you,” said Jackbones.
Tim howled again, ran to the door, left the room, and came back in again instantly and looked at them. He ran out again. Back in, looking. Out. In. He yelped.
“He wants us to go with him,” said Tadpole.
“Clearly.”
“Go on, Tim,” said Tadpole. “We’re following.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Jackbones.
But Tadpole chased after Tim. Jackbones followed, faster still and pushed past Tadpole.
“Hey, watch out. I nearly fell,” said Tadpole.
Jackbones looked over his shoulder at Tadpole and snarled. It was a face of such anger and hate that the roffle stopped. He gasped for breath. The effect of the glare had been like a punch in the stomach. Was Jackbones on the side of the enemy, after all? Had he used Tadpole to find out what was happening?
Tadpole wrapped himself in his cloak for comfort. When he looked up again his worst fears were realized. Jackbones was standing looking straight into the placid, smiling face of Smedge.
There was no way out. The passageway leading to the stairs was blocked by Jackbones and Tim and Smedge. And Jackbones had spread his arms and placed his hands on each wall. Tadpole couldn’t even see Smedge any longer.
“I thought you’d left the college,” said Jackbones.
“Why should I do that?”
“Why have you come back here?”
“This is a strange sight, Jackbones. Out of the library? Have they had enough of you at last? Did they throw you out?” Smedge was taunting him.
“They left me no choice,” said Jackbones. “I had to leave.”
Tim’s nose poked underneath the hem of Jackbones’ cloak. Big eyes looked at Tadpole.
“Is that so?” said Smedge. “And you look, well, shall we say, more solid. Are you returning to the world? What are you doing down here?”
“I came to talk to Waterburn.”
“That’s interesting. So did I.”
“He’s not there.”
“You won’t mind if I pass, then, and look in his kitchen.”
Tadpole saw Jackbones move, not aside, but bracing himself to prevent Smedge from coming through.
“You won’t be able to do that, Smedge. You know you won’t. Waterburn’s room is locked.”
“You went in?”
“Of course.”
Tim scrambled under the cloak and came and curled up at Tadpole’s feet.
“Then perhaps I can go in. I have magic, too.”
“I don’t think so. Who do you think taught Waterburn how to lock a door?”
Tadpole heard surprise in Smedge’s voice. “You?”
Jackbones became completely transparent. Tadpole could see through him as clear as through glass. And there stood Smedge. The schoolboy. Neat. Tidy. Combed and washed. His face as innocent as a child’s. It was more frightening than Smedge the animal, Smedge the mixture of predators. The disguise was worse than the reality. Tadpole pressed against the wall, to hide, knowing it was no protection. Smedge looked at him and Tim.
“Here, boy,” he called. “Come to me.”
Tim stood and cowered. Tadpole wanted to reach out and touch him, for comfort. Something told him not to. The moment passed and Jackbones was a barrier again.
“Let me have my dog,” Smedge demanded.
“He’ll go where he wants,” said Jackbones. “He’ll find you if he wants to.”
Tim pushed himself against Tadpole’s legs.
“Where have you been?” asked Jackbones. “While you’ve been away.”
“I had a message to take for Professor Frastfil.”
“To Boolat?”
Tim whimpered.
“A message,” said Smedge.
“Anything exciting happen while you were away?”
“What sort of thing?”
“Oh, there are kravvins and takkabakks on the loose. People have to be careful these days.”
Smedge laughed. “I can take care of myself,” he said. “I’m not afraid of them.”
“You’d better run along to Frastfil, then. Tell him you’re returned.”
Jackbones lost solidity again and Tadpole saw Smedge. The mask of innocence slipped and Smedge’s face contorted. Not to a different shape, but as the heat from the ground in summer affects the sight. His face shimmered, revealing a malign intent. He recovered quickly, gave a polite smile and turned to go.
“We’ll meet again, Jackbones,” he said. “Are you planning to leave the college?”
“Report back to Frastfil, Smedge,” said Jackbones. “He’ll be pleased to see you, I expect.”
Tim didn’t move. Jackbones waited until Smedge had gone before lowering his arms. Tadpole stood next to him.
“Why couldn’t he see me? Was it my cloak?”
“No. I made a blocking spell.”
“But he’s got magic, too. Couldn’t he see through it?”
Jackbones knelt down to stroke Tim, and his face was level with Tadpole’s.
“I’m an old wizard,” he said. “A sly old wizard. And I’ve learned more magic than Smedge will ever know. He’s got the strength of youth. But I’ve got the tricks of age.”
“Will he come back?”
“I do
n’t think so. He knows he can’t get into Waterburn’s. Not now. He was hoping it had been left open.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“I don’t know. If he’d seen Waterburn die, Smedge would think the seal was broken. But if he thought that Waterburn was here, wounded and weak, he might want to carry on the fight. Kill him before he could recover.”
“Couldn’t you kill him? There and then? While he was alone?”
“Kill him? You take a light view of life, young Tadpole.”
“I didn’t mean…”
“Have you ever killed anyone?”
Tadpole squirmed.
“I thought not. It’s not that simple, killing.”
“Smedge isn’t a person, is he?”
“No. No, he’s not.”
“So you could kill him.”
Tim was excited. Tadpole didn’t know whether he was frightened, or had heard someone coming, or whether he knew what they were saying. And, if he knew, did he want to protect Smedge or did he want them to kill him? Up Top was really very confusing.
“I don’t know,” said Jackbones. “He’s something special, and I don’t know if I could kill him. Even if I wanted to.”
“Don’t you want to?”
Tadpole really thought now that Tim wanted Smedge dead. He was capering round and whimpering.
“I want to get on,” said Jackbones. “And find out who lived through that fight at Flaxfield’s. I want to see Cabbage again.”
“And where is he, Cabbage? If he’s not in his room.”
Jackbones looked down.
“Do you know, Tim?” he asked.
The dog leaped up and ran to the stairs. He stopped and looked back at them.
“Perhaps he does,” said Tadpole.
“Only one way to find out. Come on.”
Tadpole hung back.
“Smedge said Tim was his dog. Can we trust him?”
Tim’s face came back round the stair. His tongue lolled out.
“What choice do we have?” asked Jackbones. “Come on.”
The porter didn’t even come out of the lodge, as they crossed the quadrangle. Tim panted. Jackbones did the seeing-through-him thing again and Tadpole nearly laughed when he finally realized what it reminded him of. Frogspawn. Transparent, but with specks of something here and there.
Frogspawn and Tadpole. He choked back a laugh and Jackbones gave him a warning stare.