Vega Jane and the Secrets of Sorcery

by David Baldacci

I opened my mouth and counted my teeth. My mother used to do this with me as a very young. We would skip over the gaps where my teeth had fallen out and continue on. She made a game and a song out of it.

  Tap, tap, tap, leap over the gap.

  Smile big and wide, as you have nothing to hide.

  John pulled on my arm. I looked down at his clean face as both the lyrics and my mum’s face faded from my mind.

  ‘I’m done, Vega,’ he said, his fear obviously gone and replaced with hunger. ‘Can we go eat?’

  17

  A NIGHT OF QUERIES

  William was waiting for us outside the door. As we followed him along another hall, I couldn’t resist snatching a glance here and there. I wondered how large Morrigone’s home was.

  William opened another door and ushered us in. ‘Madame Morrigone, your guests,’ he announced.

  Morrigone was already seated at a long wooden table with a starched linen cloth topping it. She had taken off her cloak. Underneath was the impossibly white robe she had worn at Steeples.

  ‘Please come and sit,’ she said pleasantly.

  We did as she asked, though after seeing how dirty and dishevelled I was, I could no longer meet her eye. What occurred next was something I would never forget. A female Wug dressed in crisply ironed black-and-white clothing appeared and put a bowl in front of me with steam rising off it. She did the same with John and Morrigone.

  ‘Hearty soup will help fight off the chill of the night,’ said Morrigone. She picked up her spoon and dipped it into the soup that had been set before her.

  We did not, as a matter of course, use utensils at the Loons, but my parents had done so, and thus John and I knew how to use them. We were a bit rusty, though, and it showed when I dribbled a bit of soup on to the white cloth. I was horrified by what I had done, and I felt the blood drain from my face.

  However, Morrigone made no comment and the female merely stepped forward and dabbed it away.

  After the soup came cheeses. After the cheeses came breads. After the breads came greens. And after the greens came meat that melted on my fork and then in my mouth along with round potatoes, ears of corn and warm green sprouts. Tiller fare rarely made its way to the Loons. We might get a few corn kernels and a bit of potato, enough for a mouthful, but that was all.

  John’s face was hovering so close to his plate and he was eating so fast that I could barely spot the food disappearing into his mouth.

  Males are males after all.

  I too ate as much as I possibly could and then ate some more just in case I was dreaming and the feeling of being full would disappear when I woke. But there was more to come: plates of plump fruits and sugary confections that I had seen in the window of Herman Helvet’s shop but could never hope to buy. I noticed John slipping a few of them into his cloak. I think Morrigone saw this too, though she said nothing.

  When we could eat no more, John and I sat back. I felt warm and sleepy and good.

  Morrigone said, ‘Do you desire anything else?’

  I glanced at Morrigone. ‘I think we’re fine. Thank you for such a wonderful meal,’ I added hastily.

  ‘Shall we go to the library, then?’

  We followed her down the hall. I marvelled at how she carried herself, so tall and straight and graceful, and I found myself trying to walk straighter too. We passed a longcase clock standing against one wall. It gonged the time as we passed, causing John and me to jump. Most Wugs don’t have timepieces, much less case clocks.

  We settled in the library, where the fire was still blazing. I sat, with Morrigone across from me. I felt my eyes grow heavy because of the meal and the fire.

  John didn’t sit. He walked around the room, staring up at all the books.

  Morrigone watched him curiously.

  I explained, ‘John likes to read, but Learning doesn’t have many books.’

  ‘Then take any that you would like, John,’ said Morrigone. He glanced at her in disbelief. ‘Really, John, take whatever books you want. I’ve read them all.’

  ‘You’ve read all of them?’ I said.

  She nodded. ‘My parents encouraged reading from an early age.’ She looked around. ‘This is the home I grew up in. Didn’t you know?’

  I shook my head. ‘No one in Wormwood knows much about you,’ I said quite frankly.

  ‘Your parents never spoke about my family?’

  ‘Not that I can recall, no.’ I frowned because I felt I was disappointing her.

  ‘My grandfather was Chief of Council before Thansius. He actually served on Council with your grandfather, Vega.’

  I sat up straight, my drowsiness gone. ‘My grandfather was on Council?’

  ‘He left before . . . well, before his . . .’

  ‘Event,’ I finished for her. And I wondered once more about what Krone had said back at Quentin’s cottage. Did Council simply use an Event to explain away some Wug vanishing to somewhere else? If so, where was my grandfather really?

  ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘You really didn’t know Virgil was on Council?’

  I sat back, feeling quite inadequate. I was so ignorant of my birthplace, my own family history. I looked over at John. He had pulled a dozen books off the shelf and looked to be trying to read them all at once.

  ‘I was never told that much about anything,’ I said defensively. ‘But I am curious. Very curious,’ I added for emphasis. ‘Perhaps you can tell me a few things?’

  ‘Alvis Alcumus founded Wormwood long ago – no one knows the exact date.’

  ‘But where did he come from? Because if he founded Wormwood, that means he must have come from somewhere else.’

  Morrigone gave me an uncertain look. ‘It’s not all that clear. Some say he appeared one light out of nothing.’

  ‘You mean like a reverse Event?’ said John.

  We both shot him glances. He was on the floor holding a book whose title was Jabbits and the Jugular. After nearly feeling their bite, I felt sick reading those words.

  Morrigone rose and went to the fire and held out her long, thin hands to the flames, while John turned his attention to another book, entitled Nefarious Wugs of Wormwood: A Compendium.

  I turned to Morrigone, hoping she would continue the discussion.

  ‘My father suffered an Event when I was only six sessions old,’ she said.

  ‘Blimey, where?’ I blurted out before I could catch myself.

  She didn’t seem to take offence. ‘He was last seen down by the Quag. He went there to collect a particular mushroom, which grows only along its edge. We never knew if that was where the Event occurred. There is nothing left to tell you the exact location of course.’

  I went to stand next to her, gearing up the courage to ask my next question.

  ‘Morrigone,’ I began, and my tongue seemed thrilled to say her name, as though we were longtime friends. ‘If there is nothing left, how do Wugs even know it was an Event? If your father was down by the Quag, couldn’t a beast have attacked him and pulled him into the Quag? If so, no Wug would go in to find him . . .’

  I stopped because I feared I had just spoken about Morrigone’s father in a way that could be deemed disrespectful.

  ‘Your question is a perfectly natural one, Vega. I had it myself.’

  ‘And did you find a satisfactory answer?’ John asked.

  She turned from the fire and gazed at him. ‘Sometimes I think that yes, I have. Other times, well, it’s not an easy answer to arrive at, is it? Why some Wugs leave us,’ she added wistfully.

  ‘I guess not,’ I said doubtfully.

  ‘Now, I would like to discuss some matters with you,’ she said.

  My heart started beating faster because I was afraid she wanted to discuss Quentin Herms. But once more, Morrigone surprised me.

  ‘What do you think of the Wall?’ She stared at each of us. ‘Do you believe it a worthy idea?’

  ‘It is if it keeps the Outliers from eating us,’ voiced John.

  ‘You said your
vision had seen the attack on Herms,’ I said.

  ‘That is true.’

  ‘So what became of Herms? You said your vision stopped. But you assumed that he was dead because of what was found left of him?’

  ‘My vision did not stop. What I said was a bit of an untruth to spare Wugs the horror.’ We both glanced over at an open-mouthed John. ‘I have no desire to comment further on his fate. But Herms is no more.’

  I looked back from John to find Morrigone’s gaze full upon me.

  ‘You were there that light, Vega,’ she observed. ‘And while I know you told Krone you saw nothing, are you absolutely sure you didn’t? Perhaps a glimpse?’

  With a start I realized that with her gift of special sight, Morrigone might have seen what I had seen at the edge of the Quag. She might know I had lied to Krone. When I spoke, I did so with great care.

  ‘Everything happened so fast,’ I began. ‘The attack canines were making a lot of noise and there were Council members rushing around. Some of them were very near the Quag. Whether they actually entered it or not, I couldn’t be sure. Perhaps I glimpsed one of them darting into the place. But surely a Wug would not stay there long, right?’

  She nodded. ‘No Wug in his right mind would stay in the Quag.’ She looked directly at me. ‘It means death, be very certain of that.’ She glanced at John. ‘Both of you.’

  I looked at John, who needed no such warning. He looked ready to fall head first into the fire.

  But something had occurred to me. ‘Thansius said that the Outliers can control the minds of Wugs. How?’

  ‘It is not clear. They are foul creatures to be sure, but their minds are advanced. Perhaps more advanced than our own.’

  ‘So they can make Wugs do their bidding?’ I asked.

  She looked troubled by this question. ‘Let us hope you never have occasion to find out the answer to that, Vega,’ she said ominously.

  I felt my face grow warm at her response and I looked away.

  She said, ‘I trust you both will give all your effort to help with the Wall.’

  John nodded vigorously and I did as well, though not quite so energetically.

  He said, ‘What will the Wall look like?’

  ‘It will be high, made of wood with guard towers at specified intervals.’

  ‘That’s all?’ said John, looking disappointed.

  She focused more fully on him. ‘Why? What would you suggest?’

  He said with great conviction, ‘A two-layered defence. Height can be defeated in various ways. What would be much harder to overcome is if we combined the Wall with another obstacle that would reduce the effectiveness of any attack against us.’

  I was impressed and I could tell by her look that Morrigone was too.

  She asked, ‘What would this other obstacle be?’

  ‘Water,’ he promptly answered. ‘Deep enough to slow the Outliers down. If they are descended from beasts, I would imagine they are large and heavy, even if they do walk on two legs. Thus, I would dig moats on either side of the Wall. It would provide us great tactical advantage because it would allow us to control the situation and divide and conquer our opponent.’

  ‘That’s brilliant, John,’ I said.

  Morrigone added with a smile, ‘Brilliant indeed. When did you think of all this?’

  ‘When I was using the pipes in your room to wash my face. I saw how the water collected in the little basin. It gave me the idea for the moats.’

  My respect for John’s intellect, already high, increased a hundredfold.

  Morrigone rose and fetched a book off the shelf and handed it to John. ‘This work is on numbers,’ she said. ‘I understand from the Preceptor at Learning that you like to work with numbers.’

  John opened the book and instantly focused on what was there.

  However, I was wondering why Morrigone had queried the Preceptor about John.

  Morrigone looked at me. ‘We all must use our strengths in these difficult times. And it is incumbent on Council to determine what the strength of every Wug is.’

  I looked back at her uneasily. Had she just read my mind?

  Later, as we parted company, Morrigone said, ‘I would very much appreciate if neither of you talked about your trip here. I realize that most Wugmorts don’t live at this level of comfort. And I myself find it more and more difficult to remain here when I understand the challenges the rest of Wormwood faces. However, it is my home.’

  John said, ‘I won’t say anything.’ I could tell in his voice that he was hoping for an invitation for another grand meal. John was quite smart, but he was also a young male with a usually empty belly. Sometimes it was as simple as that.

  The carriage took us back, with Bogle at the whip. The sleps moved swiftly and we were soon at the Loons.

  As we headed up to our cots, John, who was staggering slightly under the weight of all the books he had brought with him, said, ‘I will never forget this night.’

  Well, I knew that I wouldn’t either. But probably not for the same reasons.

  18

  THE START OF THE END

  Next light, I walked John to Learning. He had stuffed as many of the books from Morrigone’s into his tuck as possible. I knew he would spend the time at Learning reading them. I had loved books at his age too. I still loved books. But Morrigone had not extended her offer to me.

  It was no wonder that she kept her living arrangements a secret as jealousy was not a lost emotion in Wormwood.

  As I set off back towards my tree, I ran into them.

  I first saw Roman Picus in his greasy coat and dented hat. A long-barrelled morta rode over his shoulder and a short-barrelled morta was in a garm-skin holder on his belt. With him were two other Wugs, Cletus Loon and Ran Digby, both carrying mortas and long swords.

  Watching me in quiet triumph, Cletus Loon carried a long-barrelled morta nearly as tall as he was. He was dressed in some of his father’s hand-me-downs. The effect was comical. My face must have betrayed this because his triumphant look changed to a poisonous scowl.

  Roman said, ‘And where might you be headed, Vega?’

  I looked up at him blankly. ‘To Stacks. And where might you be headed, Roman?’

  He made a show of checking his fat timekeeper and followed that by an equally impressive gazing up at the sky. ‘Early for Stacks o’course.’

  ‘I’m going to eat my meal at my tree, then head to Stacks. That’s my routine.’

  ‘Naught ru’teen n’more,’ said the other Wug, Ran Digby – a huge, filthy mess of a Wug, who followed this nearly unintelligible comment with a great wad of spit that hit within an inch of my boots.

  ‘Outliers,’ added Cletus Loon, looking self-important.

  ‘Rii-ight,’ I said in a drawn-out syllable. ‘But I still have to eat and, at least until Domitar tells me differently, I still have to go to work at Stacks.’

  Roman scratched his cheek and said, ‘It is nae up to Domitar. Not any more.’

  ‘OK – who, then? Tell me!’ I demanded, staring at each of them in turn.

  Cletus wilted under my confrontational gaze.

  Finally Roman said, ‘Council’s who.’

  ‘OK, has Council acted yet? Is Stacks closed?’

  When he said nothing, I decided to go on the offensive.

  ‘What are you doing out here with mortas?’

  ‘Patrol. Like was said at Steeples,’ replied Roman.

  ‘I thought that would be for lesser Wugs than you, Roman,’ I said tauntingly.

  ‘If ya must know, female, I’m Chief of the newly established Wormwood Constabulary. A powerful, high position truly worthy of a Wug like me.’ He indicated the others. ‘And these are two of my duly appointed Carbineers.’

  I looked at Cletus. ‘Do you even know how to use a morta?’

  Before Cletus could say anything, Roman replied, ‘If you’re going to Stacks, best get on. But from now on, every Wug must show proper parchment to the patrols.’

  ‘Wha
t kind of parchment?’

  ‘Allowing them to go where they’re going,’ said Cletus viciously.

  ‘Why?’ I asked.

  Roman said, ‘Council orders, female. Way i’tis.’

  Digby spat to confirm this and then grunted.

  ‘And where do you get this proper parchment?’ I asked.

  ‘Aye, ain’t there a brainer?’ said Digby with another dollop of spit going splat on the ground.

  I drew a deep breath, trying to will my mouth from saying something that might cause a morta to go off in the general vicinity of my head. ‘What difference will parchment make to a bunch of Outliers?’ I asked.

  ‘You ask too many questions,’ snapped Cletus.

  I kept my gaze on Roman. ‘That’s because I get too few answers.’

  I turned and continued on my way. With all those mortas behind me, I really wanted to take off running before they could fire and later say it was a tragic mistake.

  Later, as I finally headed to Stacks, someone was waiting for me on the path. Delph looked like he had not eaten or slept for a session. His huge body was slumped, his gaze on his brogans, his long hair hanging limp.

  ‘Delph?’ I said cautiously.

  ‘Wo-wo-wotcha, Vega Jane.’

  Somewhat relieved by him using his typical greeting, I asked, ‘Are you OK?’

  He first nodded and then shook his head.

  I drew closer to him. In many ways, Delph was my younger brother too, though he was older than me. He looked lost and afraid, and my heart went out to him.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.

  ‘Steeples.’

  ‘The meeting?’

  He nodded.

  ‘There’s a plan, Delph. You heard Thansius.’

  ‘Heard Th-Th-Tha-Thans . . .’ he mumbled, before giving up on the name. ‘Him.’

  I patted his thick shoulder. ‘You’ll be a great help with the Wall, Delph. You could probably build it all by yourself.’

  His next words cast away my light-heartedness. ‘Virgil’s Event.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Like I s-s-said, se-seen it, Vega Jane.’

  ‘What exactly did you see?’ I demanded.

  He tapped his head. ‘Hard to say, all jar-jar-jargolled,’ he finally managed with enormous effort, and nearly choking in the process.