“He what?”
“When I give him the posset, he sometimes asks me if it’s poison.”
“Oh.” Jinx thought about this. “Won’t you have to tell him about the sleeping potion if he asks you, then?”
“No, because a sleeping potion isn’t poison,” said Elfwyn. “And he’s never asked me if it’s a sleeping potion. I think it’s done.”
Jinx took the potion off the flame. It smelled like rotting slime. “You think he’ll actually drink something that stinks this much?”
“Oh, yes. The posset will hide the smell and the taste—I’ve been making it extra strong on purpose.”
She held out a bottle, and Jinx carefully tipped the contents of the phial into it. The ghoul smacked against the window again, but they were used to it now. They didn’t even jump.
Jinx was in the laboratory alone. He had his backpack, and Elfwyn’s and Reven’s backpacks, and an empty gunnysack from the kitchen. It was time to steal the bottles. Reven had climbed down the cliff already. Elfwyn had given the Bonemaster the potion and gone outside with the Bone Bridge in her pocket.
Jinx had to draw on the power in the bottles beneath him to lift the stone trapdoor. He hated doing it.
He took Simon out of his pocket and set him on the floor—he didn’t want him falling out of his pocket when he climbed. He threw the backpacks and sack into the hole and then clambered down after them. In the cold silence of the passage, he felt completely alone in the world.
In the yellow flickering candlelight the tiny people were just shadows of themselves through the curved glass. Jinx tried not to look at them as he put them into the bags, one by one. He could feel the power reaching for him. Trying to use him, maybe.
The bottles rang when they touched each other. Jinx worked as quickly and quietly as he could. He knew he had more time because of Elfwyn’s potion, but he couldn’t quite make himself believe it.
At last all the bottles were in the bags. Jinx picked up his own pack and put it on his back. He put his arms through Reven’s pack and wore it on his chest. Then he picked up Elfwyn’s pack in his left hand and the sack in his right—clank. He took a step. Clank, clank. Another step, carefully. The bottles rattled and clunked. Jinx stopped and set the bags down.
He looked at the beam of light from the trapdoor. It wasn’t just the noise—how was he going to climb back up the ladder laden like this?
Then he heard footsteps in the laboratory overhead.
He froze. The trapdoor was open, plain to see. And Simon in his bottle beside it.
The footsteps came up to the trapdoor, and the light beam was broken by something moving across it. Someone was coming down the ladder.
“What’s taking you so long?” It was Elfwyn.
“The bags make too much noise,” he said.
“So levitate them.”
“I can’t. I can’t use the power, it’s all evil-filling. I’ll end up like him.”
“No you won’t. Not from a levitation spell. It’s just till we get down from the island.”
Jinx didn’t like it, but he didn’t see any way around it. He drew on the power in the bottles—the cold from it seemed to fill his bones. But evil wasn’t the right word for it, he realized. It was more like the power had been … wronged. Twisted. He levitated the bottles.
“Now just float them up through the trapdoor,” said Elfwyn.
“I know what to do,” said Jinx. “You don’t have to tell me.”
The bags were weightless now, and he pushed them along the passageway on a cushion of air, making very little noise. When he reached the light beam, he sent them up it to the trapdoor. He sent them up higher still, out of sight—he’d never done magic out of sight before. He had to draw more of the cold, dead-alive power to do it.
Elfwyn came behind him, carrying the candle. They climbed up the iron rungs. The four bags were waiting for them, floating three feet above the floor. Jinx picked up the bottle of Simon he’d left by the trapdoor.
“The Bonemaster’s not here yet,” said Jinx, speaking in a whisper.
“Of course not. That potion will put him out for hours.”
They pushed the bags through the air. Now and then there was a clank from a bottle sliding against another, and each time Jinx froze and listened. Elfwyn had more confidence in their sleeping potion than he did.
The front door creaked too loudly. Outside, Jinx saw that the Bone Bridge had been neatly reattached to the stone posts. By Elfwyn, who had never done it before. Previously, it had been set up by the Bonemaster, who presumably knew just how to do it.
“You’ll be fine, Jinx. Don’t be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“You’re trembling.”
“I am not!”
They stood at the top of the bridge, and the four bags floated beside them. Simon was clenched tight in Jinx’s fist.
“I’m not afraid of heights,” said Jinx. “It’s only this cliff that makes me sort of nervous.”
“I’ll go first,” said Elfwyn. She reached for two of the bags.
“No, I’ll take them,” said Jinx.
“You can’t handle all of them.”
“Yeah I can. It’s not like they weigh anything.”
“Well, I’ll at least take Simon, then.” She took the green bottle out of Jinx’s hand. Then she turned around, gripped the ropes, and stepped backward onto the Bone Bridge. It swayed sickeningly from her movements as she started down.
It was Jinx’s turn to follow. He put one backpack on his back and strapped another to his chest. The levitating bags floated him slightly. He looped the remaining backpack over one arm and slung the gunnysack over his back.
Elfwyn was a quarter of the way down already, moving over nothing but bones and empty space. Jinx felt ill and looked away. Right. He could do this. He put a hand on one of the stone posts at the top of the bridge.
The front door of the castle creaked open.
At the same moment, Jinx felt the sudden weight of the bags—they were no longer floating. He turned around. The Bonemaster was coming down the castle steps.
“So.” The Bonemaster strode toward him. “Leaving without saying farewell?”
Jinx threw his arms out across the front of the bridge, barring the Bonemaster’s way. Jinx was far too close to the edge, and now he had his back to it. He could hear the clatter of bones as Elfwyn worked her way down, unaware of the danger.
“Out of my way, brat.” The Bonemaster seized Jinx by the shoulders and heaved him aside.
Jinx landed on his back and heard glass crunch under him. Waves of filmy smoke rose from his backpack and floated away in the air. The Bonemaster headed for the bridge. Jinx scrambled to his feet. He stumbled forward and grabbed the Bonemaster’s arm. The Bonemaster spun around and punched Jinx in the face. Jinx didn’t let go. He dragged the Bonemaster away from the bridge. They both fell to the ground.
Jinx dug his fingers in and held on to the Bonemaster as tightly as he could—the Bonemaster was still hitting him. Then Jinx couldn’t move—his clothes were frozen. He still didn’t let go of the Bonemaster. Then the Bonemaster grabbed Jinx’s hands and squeezed them till Jinx felt the bones crunch together. He yelled in pain and had to let go.
“Jinx! What’s wrong?” Elfwyn’s voice came from over the edge of the cliff.
“Run, Elfwyn!” Jinx yelled.
The Bonemaster scrambled up and made for the bridge. Jinx’s clothes stayed frozen even when the wizard looked away—he was able to do this spell better than Simon. Jinx heard the rattle of bones as Elfwyn climbed back up the bridge—could she see the Bonemaster yet? Did she know she was climbing right into his arms?
Jinx felt the Bonemaster drawing on the cold power in the bottles for whatever he was going to do to Elfwyn—kill her, probably. Bottle her life and take her bones.
Don’t let him do it. The power in the bottles was telling him that. It reached out to Jinx, as it had before. Jinx grabbed the alive part of th
e dead-alive power and wrenched it away from the Bonemaster.
The power was less than it had been, because of the broken bottles. Jinx unfroze his clothes—the power showed him how—and got to his feet. He picked up the bag of bottles he’d dropped, and he swung it at the Bonemaster’s head.
The Bonemaster ducked, raised a hand toward Jinx, and drew on the power in the bottles again. Jinx drew it back, as hard as he could.
“You can’t take my power!” the Bonemaster cried.
“Can too.” But Jinx felt it slipping away as the Bonemaster pulled back.
Jinx fought for control of the power. The alive part tried to stay with him, but it was too closely bound to the dead part, and that part belonged to the Bonemaster. The power was slipping away from Jinx—he didn’t know enough, curse it. He didn’t have the Bonemaster’s experience, and he hadn’t even known a power struggle like this was possible. He pulled and pulled at the power, but it was like trying to get a firm grip on a slippery rope. The Bonemaster would have control in a minute, would use it against him, would get Elfwyn—
“Bonemaster!” Elfwyn had reached the top of the cliff. She came at him, her right fist swinging, her left hand clenched around bottled Simon.
The Bonemaster was distracted for a second, and the magic slid into Jinx’s control. Jinx scrambled to think what to do with the magic, quick, he had enough power to—what? He didn’t know, so he set the Bonemaster’s clothes on fire.
Except it was more fire than that. The air caught fire. The whole island was a roar of orange flame. Jinx heard the sizzling terror of the single gnarled hemlock that had never learned to talk. He couldn’t kill the tree. Or Elfwyn. He stopped the fire. It had lasted less than a second. At the same instant he felt a slithering jerk as the Bonemaster seized the cold power away from Jinx.
The wizard’s clothes were blackened, soot-stinking rags, and his hair and beard were frizzled. Behind him, Elfwyn looked singed and stunned.
Jinx could read his own death in the wizard’s eyes. The Bonemaster took a step toward Jinx, his hands raised to cast a spell. Jinx took a step backward.
“I don’t think that Simon is coming for you,” said the Bonemaster. “And with your life gone, you’re really not worth anything to me.”
“I’m useful cleaning up,” said Jinx.
“I think I’m tired of you.” The Bonemaster took another step forward, and Jinx took another step back.
Jinx still had one bag of bottles in his hand and one on his chest. The one on his back jingled with broken glass. He would swing the bag in his hands at the Bonemaster. In a second. It wouldn’t do much good, but he had to do it, because the Bonemaster was about to kill him.
He tried to draw on the power in the bottles but he couldn’t. The Bonemaster had a firm grip on it now. The only thing for Jinx to do was go down fighting. He clutched the bag tightly and took a big step backward so he could swing it freely.
A big step backward onto nothing.
22
Things Seen from Above
Jinx plummeted. Wind rushed in his ears, and there was screaming—maybe Elfwyn’s, possibly his own.
He had the sensation of being punched very hard, all over his body at the same time.
It only hurt for a second, and then he was high in the air, not frightened at all. Hah, he wasn’t afraid of heights! Just of that cliff, and with good reason. Around him wisps of smoke streamed upward, one by one—lives escaping from the smashed bottles.
The Bone Bridge rattled—Elfwyn scrambled down it, followed much more slowly by the Bonemaster. Why didn’t he immobilize her? Jinx wondered. Then the dead lives drifting upward answered.
He can’t. We’re free.
The Bonemaster’s power had escaped with the lives. Except for the part of his power that was in Simon, in the bottle in Elfwyn’s hand.
Reven was running toward the bridge—he must have wandered away, exploring. It probably hadn’t been a minute since the Bonemaster had first appeared at the castle door.
Elfwyn tripped and fell forward. She grabbed desperately at the bones of the bridge and dropped Simon’s bottle.
The bottle fell.
Elfwyn slid a few feet down the bridge and nearly went over the edge before she succeeded in stopping herself. She looked back—the Bonemaster was still coming. She got to her feet fast and kept climbing down. Jinx flew down and got in front of the Bonemaster, trying to stop him. The Bonemaster passed through him as if fighting his way through deep water. It gave Jinx a sick, ripply feeling.
Simon’s bottle was still falling. Jinx flew toward it, made a grab, and caught it. It tumbled slowly through his hands.
Reven, still running, put himself under the falling bottle of Simon and caught it. He stuck it in his pocket without looking at it. Elfwyn reached the bottom of the bridge, and Reven hurried over to her.
Jinx watched Elfwyn and Reven splash back across the stream and run to Jinx’s body—that was his body, wasn’t it? It was harder to see than it had been the time that Simon had killed him. It wasn’t shaped right.
Elfwyn was crying, and Reven was white in the face. Jinx felt bad about that. He wanted to tell them not to worry, he was right up here and he was fine, but when he tried to call out, he found he couldn’t make any noise. He sailed up higher and saw the river rushing between its stone banks. Two figures were running toward the Bonemaster’s island—one was running, rather, and the other hopping along in giant leaps.
Jinx drifted back down to warn Elfwyn and Reven that someone else was coming. Reven was just pulling his hands away from touching Jinx’s body. The Bonemaster was creeping down the Bone Bridge—slowly, backward, careful not to slide on the slippery rungs. Elfwyn and Reven needed to get out of there. And so did Jinx, but he didn’t see how he could when he was separated from his body like this.
“Run!” Jinx shouted—or tried to, but he didn’t make any noise.
Reven straightened up, putting his hands on his knees and leaving two crimson handprints on his breeches. He looked up at the Bonemaster, his eyes diamond cold.
“I’ll kill you, you evil scum,” he said, very calmly. He stood up and started toward the end of the bridge.
Was Reven going to climb the Bone Bridge and fight the Bonemaster in midair? That was certain to end badly. Jinx swooped down and spread his arms out to stop Reven. Reven walked through him. Jinx felt a ripply sensation, as if he were water turning into waves, forming a wake behind Reven.
“Reven, stop!” yelled Elfwyn.
Jinx tried to stop her too, though he knew now he could only slow her down. Elfwyn stepped into Jinx, then stopped exactly inside him. Jinx fluttered and burbled around her and couldn’t get himself organized. Everything that happened next came through as blurred, wavy images and voices speaking underwater.
Reven took the ax that was strapped to his back, swung it four times, and chopped through the ropes that held the Bone Bridge in place. The bridge came free, like a ghastly ribbon floating in the air, then smacked against the cliff. The Bonemaster hit the cliff hard but did not let go of the bridge.
Two people came charging up the shore, yelling.
“Jinx!” It was Simon. He sloshed across the shallow stream to where Jinx’s body lay on the stones.
With a mighty thump, Dame Glammer landed her butter churn and reached through the blurry waves of Jinx to grab Elfwyn. Dragging Elfwyn along beside her, she hopped over to where Simon knelt.
Now Jinx could see and hear clearly again. He drifted over to where everyone was gathered around his body, which, now that he saw it up close, was quite a mess.
Simon’s face was the color of parchment—probably he was still sick from his injury, Jinx thought.
“Not much to be done, I’m afraid,” said Dame Glammer.
Simon rounded on her. “You shut up! If you hadn’t sent him here—”
“Manners, Simon. Manners.” It was the Bonemaster who spoke. “Haven’t I always told you the importance of manners?”
> He was clinging to the bridge, thirty feet over their heads. His arms were tightly wrapped around a thighbone. The bridge hung straight down the side of the cliff like a rope ladder.
“Shut up,” said Simon. “I’ll deal with you later.”
“I don’t know what you’re crying about,” said the Bonemaster. “You have the life bottled, don’t you? Though I must say I never thought you’d manage such an advanced spell, Simon.”
“Shut up.”
Simon didn’t look at the Bonemaster; he didn’t take his eyes off Jinx, which Jinx found embarrassing, as he wasn’t exactly looking his best. Jinx preferred to look at anybody but himself—Dame Glammer standing up in her butter churn, the Bonemaster hanging from his bridge, Elfwyn gazing at Simon as if she was trying to decide whether he was as evil as the Bonemaster, Reven with the ax in his hands, standing directly behind Simon—
Jinx tried to cry out as Reven raised the ax. No one heard him—except Dame Glammer, who looked up sharply.
Jinx flew forward and tried to knock Simon out of the way, but he ended up inside Simon, all wobbly and blurred. Looking out from the back of Simon’s head, Jinx watched helplessly as the glinting sharp ax blade descended.
Dame Glammer’s stick come down hard on Reven’s arms. The ax flew through the air and landed several yards away.
Simon spun around and froze Reven’s clothes. He stepped forward, out of Jinx, and grabbed Reven by the collar.
“Who are you?”
“He can’t tell you that,” said Elfwyn.
“Of course I can. I’m Reven. Unhand me, evil wizard.”
“Oh, for pity’s sake, even if he is evil, he’s only Simon,” said Dame Glammer. “You’ve no call to be chopping him up.”
“Are you evil, Simon?” said Elfwyn.
“Of course not,” Simon snapped. “Look, see those blankets over there, girl?”
“Yes.”
“Go get them.”
Elfwyn gave Simon a look but went and got them. “Are they to bury Jinx in?”
“Of course not! Fold them in half and lay them out flat.”
“What for?” said Elfwyn.
Jinx Page 21