Baron Magpie peered a little too closely over her shoulder. “It’s one of four volumes, apparently. Each one named after a different question.” He said this with the pedantic enthusiasm of a collector. “They’re older than dust, and I’m quite keen to have the whole set.”
Madame Eldritch turned to the next page and saw an unusual inscription. She read it aloud:
We four books—Who, What, Where, and When—
Hold all the world’s magic bound within.
And when assembled throughout the ages,
Two words, when spoken, unlock our pages.
Impossible things of all shape and kind
Flow from the will of a curious mind.
“Some sort of riddle or silly joke,” the baron said. “I can’t quite make it out.”
Madame Eldritch stared at the words, which to her were far from silly. She knew spells when she saw them, and this was a spell. “Impossible things . . .” she whispered. She wondered what the two words might be that could unlock the power within these books. She wondered what a person could do with such power.
“Yes, well,” the baron said, “if you think you can find the others, I’d be willing to pay a great deal. There’s nothing that plagues me more than an incomplete set.”
“Indeed.” Madame Eldritch knew that the wise course would be to return the book to the baron, but somehow, she could not bring herself to give it back to him. And in that moment, Madame Eldritch, who made a point of never changing her mind, changed her mind. She locked eyes with Taro, who gave no visible response. “The book is a fine specimen,” she said, closing the cover. “Unfortunately, I was mistaken about finding its match. The book I encountered was not part of this set. I am sorry to have wasted your time.”
“Are you quite certain? Perhaps I’d like to have it anyway.”
Madame Eldritch slowly removed her gloves to reveal shining fingernails—freshly painted for just such an occasion. “Alas, I did not bring it with me. But perhaps there is still an opportunity for us to do business.” She walked behind him. “What if I were willing to part with the mandrake?”
The baron turned toward her, his eyes wide. “Do you mean it, Madame?”
“Please,” she said, stepping closer. “Call me Ezmerzelda.”
The baron swallowed. “And you may call me Klaus.”
Madame Eldritch smiled. “Klaus . . .” She ran a red fingernail along his flushed cheek. “Perhaps we could discuss the details someplace more private?”
Baron Magpie did not answer but for a dumbstruck nod. Madame Eldritch led the man from the library into the darkness of the hall, the heavy doors closing behind them.
CHAPTER TWENTY
QUICKBRAMBLE
Afternoon passed into early evening, and the forest closed further around Sophie and her companions. They soon rounded a bend to find that the path was blocked with thickets. “We’re getting close now,” Knucklemeat said, and slowed the wagon. “This here’s his garden.”
Thorny black branches twisted and twined to create an impenetrable barrier. Sophie craned her neck, trying to see some sign of an entrance or path. “Those bushes are blocking the path,” she said. “Why would he plant them like that?”
Knucklemeat sniffed. “Oh, you’ll see.” He continued driving until they were only a few paces from the brush. He pulled the reins and slowed the wagon to a stop. The horse nickered nervously. “Everyone keep still, and try not to make any sudden noises.” He urged his horse forward. There was a rustling sound as the bushes suddenly came to life, growing thicker and longer.
“Well, that’s a neat trick,” Sir Tode said, climbing onto Sophie’s lap for a better view. “I don’t suppose you’ve got some hedge shears in the back of the wagon?”
Tendril-like branches slithered and twisted, forming themselves into a sort of thorny gate. The branches shuddered as bright roses of varying colors appeared all over the gate.
Peter leaned close to her. “What is it?”
“What is it?” Knucklemeat repeated, amused. “Are you telling me you’ve never seen quickbramble before?”
Sophie looked at the man beside her, who appeared to be completely sincere in his assertion. “Quickbramble is extinct,” she said firmly.
“Extinct?” The man rolled his eyes. “Spoken like a true Bustleburgher. You don’t believe a thing until it’s coiled round your neck.”
“It’s obviously real,” Peter said. He cocked his head as if trying to hear a way through. “How does it work? Is there a lock?”
“I’m not sure,” Sophie said. “There’s an old nursery rhyme about it:
“Quickbramble, quickbramble, ramblers take heed.
Pick right, you pass. Pick wrong, you bleed.”
Like all children in Bustleburgh, she had grown up singing that verse, but she had never really paused to consider its meaning.
“That’s pretty accurate,” Knucklemeat said. “So far as nursery rhymes go.” He gestured toward the flower-covered gate. “You see those roses?” Sophie looked at them, each one slightly different. There were normal rose colors, such as red and yellow and white, but mixed in with them were stranger hues—gold and cobalt and black and emerald and even one that looked translucent. “The brambles won’t let you pass unless you pick the right color,” Knucklemeat explained, “and the only person who knows that color is him who planted it. Unless, of course, you know what to look for.” He tapped his eye patch.
“So which color is it?” Sophie said.
Knucklemeat peered at the flowers. “Ah, I think I see it—that pearly one near the top. It’s a bit high up for you lot; you’ll have to uncuff me so I can grab it.” He held up his shackled hands.
“Not a chance,” Peter said. He hopped down from the back of the wagon. “I’ll do it.”
Knucklemeat slumped back. “Can’t blame me for trying.”
Peter walked to the middle of the gate and raised his head, smelling the air. He pointed his blade directly at the rose that Knucklemeat had described. Its white petals shimmered like oil on water. “This one?”
“That’s the one,” the man said. “Watch out for thorns.”
Sophie noticed a slight twitch at the edge of the man’s mouth, as if he were suppressing a grin. She thought back on the nursery rhyme, recalling its final words: Pick wrong, you bleed.
She sprang up. “Peter, wait!”
But it was too late.
The boy had reached up and plucked the flower from the gate. The quickbramble sprang to life like a nest of snakes. Thorny tendrils grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him into the thicket. He flailed, slashing his blade, but more branches came and bound him tightly, lifting him clear off the ground. He uttered a stifled scream as branches snaked around his entire body and pulled him deeper into the shadows.
“Whoops!” Knucklemeat said, laughing. “Must have been wrong about that color. Clumsy me.”
“Peter!” Sir Tode leapt to his feet.
But the boy either could not hear him or could not speak.
Sophie whirled around and grabbed Knucklemeat’s arm. “Help him!” she cried.
Knucklemeat pulled his arm away. “Allow me a counteroffer: Uncuff me, and I’ll tell you the right color.”
Sophie looked back to Peter, who was now upside down—a rope of branches tight around his throat.
“We’re losing time,” Sir Tode said, his voice panicked. “Just give him the key!”
“Not yet.” She turned back to Knucklemeat. “How do I know you won’t just lie to me like you did to him?”
“You don’t,” he said. “But you’d better be quick in deciding—your boyfriend’s looking a little blue in the face.” He held up his shackled hands. “Tick, tock.”
“Sophie!” Sir Tode hissed. “I appreciate your determination, but we don’t have time for this. Peter’s dying in there!”
Sophie lunged forward and snatched the reins from Knucklemeat’s hand. “Hey!” the man bellowed. “What are you doing?”
&
nbsp; “Keeping you honest.” She snapped the reins, and the horse galloped straight into the quickbramble. The moment the wagon touched the gate, branches lashed out. The horse gave a piercing neigh as tendrils snaked around its legs and neck. The entire wagon lurched to one side; its wheels lifted clear off the ground.
Knucklemeat screamed as quickbramble grabbed hold of his body. “You stupid brat!” he snarled. “If I die, the rest of you die with me!” He kicked and thrashed as quickbramble wrapped around his feet and legs, holding him fast.
“That’s the idea,” Sophie said as thorny tendrils wrapped around her own body. “Which flower?”
By now the entire thicket had worked itself into a roiling mass of thorns. Peter was nowhere to be seen. Knucklemeat’s horse uttered a chilling cry as it was dragged to the ground. There was a loud crack as one of the wagon wheels snapped to splinters.
Knucklemeat roared as black thorns dug into his neck. “Fine!” The man pointed a finger into the twisting branches. “It’s over there! The green one!”
Sophie looked at a green blossom that was just above her head. She tried to reach for it, but a branch caught her hand short. “I can’t reach it!” she said.
“TRY HARDER!” Sir Tode shouted from somewhere inside the thicket.
More branches were twining around her body, squeezing the breath from her lungs. Sophie lunged forward and grabbed hold of the flower with her mouth. She bit down on it and ripped it from the stem.
There was a crash as Sophie, Sir Tode, and the wagon fell back to the ground. The quickbramble quietly retreated to the edges of the path.
Sophie spat the flower from her mouth and scrambled to her feet. “Peter!”
The boy lay on the ground, his clothes torn to ribbons. Dark blood ran down his arms and face. “Are you alive?” She knelt beside him and took his head in her hands.
Peter lolled his head toward her. “That was . . . smart thinking with the carriage . . .” He gave a faint smile. “Though you could have been a little faster.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
A COLD RECEPTION
Once tamed, the quickbramble had been eerily accommodating for Sophie and her companions. The branches pulled away in front of the wagon to create a broad path that followed the river to a rocky ledge at the farthest edge of the Grimmwald. No sooner had they passed than Sophie heard a rustling sound as the quickbramble crept back over the path behind them, sealing them within the grounds.
They soon found themselves before a small castle at the edge of a sheer cliff. Knucklemeat pulled the reins to slow his horse. “That’s the baron’s home,” he said. “He calls it the menagerie.”
“The menagerie?” Sophie stared at the castle. “Why does he call it that?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.” The man chuckled, as though this was a particularly funny joke.
Sophie stared at the structure, which glowed orange in the dusky light. It was a small keep with one tall tower, the color of polished bone. The castle was built directly over the mouth of a thunderous waterfall that spilled into the hinterland marshes a hundred feet below. Sophie thought of the countless stories she had read about the Ivory Tower’s ancient, magical library—and here she was, actually about to step inside. She noticed a trail of smoke wafting from one of the many chimneys. “We’re in luck,” she said. “It looks like he’s home.”
“Not sure I’d call that luck.” Knucklemeat shifted his weight. “You really think your little ruse will work?”
“It’ll work,” Peter said. So far as plans go, theirs was a fairly simple one. It had been decided that Sophie would pretend to be a merchant hoping to sell Sir Tode to the baron’s one-of-a-kind collection. If what Knucklemeat had indicated about the baron was true, Sir Tode would be a more-than-appealing prospect. Meanwhile, Peter would sneak inside and procure The Book of What.
“All right,” Sophie said to Peter as she climbed down from the wagon. “Wait till we’re inside, and then sneak through one of those slotted windows. When you find the book, give a cry, and we’ll all run for it.” She helped Sir Tode wriggle himself into a birdcage they had found in the back of the wagon.
“Just make sure to take me with you when you run,” Sir Tode said as she closed the cage door on him. “I don’t like the thought of ending my days on display in some cage.”
“What about him?” Peter asked, nodding toward Knucklemeat. “If I leave the wagon, he’ll drive off the first chance he gets.”
Knucklemeat made a mocking face. “You wound me.”
Sophie put The Book of Who under one arm and then picked up the cage. “Chain his hands to the wagon wheel. If he can’t reach the quickbramble blossoms, he’s as trapped as the rest of us.” She turned toward the castle steps and took a deep breath. “Wish us luck.”
“I’ve got something better than luck,” Peter said, rummaging through his bag. He pulled out Knucklemeat’s gun belt. “I . . . um . . . I thought you might want this.” He thrust his arm out, offering the gift.
Sophie set down the cage and took the belt. The four holster straps had been cut apart and retied to make wide, crisscrossed loops. “It’s a book strap,” Peter explained. “So you can carry the books but keep your hands free. The belt part might still be a little big. I . . . um . . . couldn’t quite tell your waist size.” He stepped back, adjusting his burgle-sack. “It was probably a dumb idea.”
“No, it’s perfect.” Sophie slung the strap over one shoulder like a bandolier and cinched the buckle. She slipped The Book of Who into one of the four straps—it fit perfectly. She ran her fingers over the three remaining slots, each waiting for its own book. Soon another would be filled, and she would be that much closer to finding out the truth about her mother. She looked up at Peter, who was facing the ground, shifting his feet from side to side. “Thank you,” she said softly.
“Adorable.” Knucklemeat made a tsk sound. “If he’s not your boyfriend, it’s not for want of trying.”
Peter straightened up. “You should get moving,” he said to Sophie a bit brusquely. He grabbed Knucklemeat’s chains and dragged him off the bench. “And you should keep your mouth shut.” He wrenched the man’s arms backward as he secured the shackles around one of the wheel spokes.
“Just keep him distracted,” Peter called. “I’ll give you to the count of two hundred before I go in.”
Sophie turned back toward the castle. She picked up Sir Tode’s cage and started up the long stone stairway. Sir Tode had been uncharacteristically quiet since escaping the quickbramble. She thought she knew why. “I should have just listened to you about unchaining Knucklemeat earlier,” she said quietly. “Peter’s life wasn’t worth the gamble.”
Sir Tode nodded, blinking. “Brave though he is, Peter’s just a boy. It’s easy to forget that sometimes.”
“It won’t happen again.”
Sir Tode chuckled kindly. “I don’t believe that for a second, Sophie Quire. You can no more stop being clever than he can stop being brash—it’s almost like each of you was handpicked to antagonize the other.”
They reached the top of the stairs, which ended at an impressive pair of wooden doors with an enormous golden knocker in the shape of a bird’s claw.
“Wait,” Sir Tode said. “First lock my cage.”
Sophie looked at the cage door, which was shut but not latched. “That’s not necessary.”
“Of course it is,” Sir Tode said. “You are a merchant, and you’ve come to sell the baron something very valuable, something that he’ll desperately want. You must act the part—if you don’t believe it, neither will he, and then we’ll all be in trouble.”
Sophie nodded and latched the cage. She smoothed out her skirts, hoping very much that this dress made her appear older than twelve. She thought of the way Madame Eldritch had spoken back in the oubliette when she was trying to sell her trinkets and potions: The woman had made each one sound lovely and just a little dangerous. Sophie brushed her hair from her face and took a deep breath. She
took the knocker and struck it against the door three times.
For a moment, the castle was silent, but then she heard a ratcheting sound. The giant doors unlatched, slowly pulling apart as if of their own accord.
“Phantom doors,” Sir Tode said, peering through his cage. “Is the baron a magician, as well?”
Sophie shook her head. “I heard gears shifting inside the walls.” Some of the newer buildings and factories in Bustleburgh had automated clockwork running through them. But she had never before heard of someone rich enough to afford such a thing in his home.
“Clockwork.” Sir Tode uttered the word like a curse. “Terrible, sneaky stuff. Keep your wits about you.”
Sophie carried Sir Tode over the threshold into the entryway of the castle. As soon as she was inside, the doors shut behind them. She walked into the foyer, her boot heels echoing with each step. She had never before been in so fine a space. Torches flickered along the walls, reflecting brightly off the polished marble floor. Before her stood a high rotunda flanked by two curved staircases and a series of doors covered in gold filigree. She stared at the shadows, searching for some sign of servants or valets.
“Which way are we meant to go?” Sir Tode said.
Sophie shrugged. A prickling at the back of her neck made her feel she was being watched. She cleared her throat and spoke to the empty room. “I seek an audience with the baron.”
She heard a clicking sound, and the doors directly in front of her swung apart. The entryway filled with a pungent, musky aroma, and she could hear the sounds of animals growling and cooing beyond the open doors.
“I suppose that’s as much a welcome as we’re going to get,” Sir Tode said. “Remember: confidence.”
Sophie carried Sir Tode into an enormous open hall lined with tall cages that stretched up to the ceiling like pillars. Inside each cage was a different creature. Even in the dim light, Sophie could tell that these were not normal animals. Rather, they were beasts she had only read about in books. Beasts she never imagined to actually exist. And they all looked hungry.
Sophie Quire and the Last Storyguard Page 14