Year of the Griffin

by Diana Wynne Jones

  There was a weighty pause then. Isodel looked at Olga, and Olga looked at Isodel. Then both of them smiled in the same anxious-to-please way. It was clear that they liked one another but were both a little daunted by the situation. As soon as he saw this, Felim, on whom Isodel’s smile worked in the usual profound way, went dashing off to fetch Isodel some coffee.

  “And some food!” Lukin shouted after Felim. “Because I’ll bet you had no breakfast,” he said to Isodel, who confessed that this was so.

  “I can’t stay here more than half an hour,” she added. “It’s about five miles to the wood, and Endymion has to get me back for lunchtime or Father’s going to ask where I am, too.”

  “We’ve got a class, anyway,” Lukin said. “And I’ve got to talk to Wermacht about—” He looked around for the cloakrack. Claudia, Ruskin, and Olga pointed. It was standing on the other side of the statue. “And I know we left it inside the tutorial room,” said Lukin. “But if it got out of a sealed pit, what’s a mere door? It just takes a little longer. Isodel, if you think we’ve got problems, you should hear about Claudia’s. And Felim’s.” And he told her, although he said not a word about Olga’s troubles, for which everyone silently congratulated him.

  Claudia had been looking from brother to sister. They were very alike, although Lukin’s face was heavier and his hair darker. When they were both smiling and talking, they were more alike than ever. Claudia was puzzled, because they looked about the same age. “Are you two twins?” she asked.

  They laughed. “People always ask that,” said Isodel. “No, but I’m only ten months older than he is.”

  “She’s the eldest, and she’d make a much better monarch than me,” Lukin said. “Though nothing seems to convince my father of this.” Here Felim came dashing back from the refectory with a tray laden with coffee and a quantity of buns. He handed the tray to Isodel, who thanked him with a smile. “Don’t you agree she’d make a good queen?” Lukin asked Felim.

  “I certainly do!” Felim said devoutly. That smile had made him Isodel’s for life.

  “Problem,” Lukin said. “Mine this time. The king, my father, has no idea that I am here learning to be a wizard. If he knew, he would not only hit the palace roof but probably also go on up through it. He thinks wizardry and kingship are two incompatible things. The rest of my family, bless them, are trying to prevent my father finding out where I am, but he is getting suspicious because he doesn’t ever actually see me. Can any of you think of a way I can be in two places at once? Isodel’s finding things really difficult.”

  “An illusion,” Felim said promptly. “He will see you at the end of a long corridor or running ahead downstairs too fast to catch.”

  “No,” said Ruskin. “A golem. I came across a very pretty little golem-spell the other day. You need a likeness of Lukin that this king can get close to.”

  Everyone looked dubious about this, knowing the success rate of Ruskin’s spells lately. Isodel said diffidently, “I’ve seen golems. They don’t behave like a real person.”

  “How about—” Elda and Olga began at once. Elda shut her beak, and Olga continued, “A sort of mixture of the two ideas?” and Elda exclaimed, “I was going to say that!”

  “Yes,” agreed Claudia. “That might do it. I believe such things work best on something that belongs to the person you’re trying to copy. Lukin, give us a handkerchief or a button or something, and if we can get it to look like you with a simple trigger word—if somebody says your name maybe—then we can give it to Isodel—”

  “And I can take it home and pass it around the family so that Father sees him in all sorts of places! Perfect!” Isodel exclaimed.

  While Lukin searched himself, muttering that somehow he didn’t seem to have a handkerchief, Felim said politely to Isodel, “Are you a wizard also, my lady?”

  Isodel laughed. “Good lords, no!”

  “She just has personal magnetism,” Lukin said, giving up the handkerchief hunt and handing Claudia the torn-out inside of a pocket instead. “The kind of magnetism that has fledgling dragons swearing lifelong fidelity and courtiers falling at her feet proposing marriage twice a day.”

  Isodel turned decidedly pink. “It’s not—I really don’t encourage anyone.”

  “I wish I had half of it, that’s all,” said Lukin.

  Felim’s dark eyes studied Isodel, then Lukin. “Forgive me,” he said in his polite way, “but I think you simply seldom choose to exercise yours.”

  It was Lukin’s turn to blush. “Let’s get on with this spell,” he said.

  They gathered around the torn-out pocket with their heads together, while Isodel sat on the plinth of the statue, leaning against Wizard Policant’s legs, eating buns and watching. She shook her head from time to time, quite unable to see what they were doing. She was taken completely by surprise when after a minute or so Claudia said, “I think that should do it. Let’s test it. Hold it out to one side of him, Olga, while Isodel says his name. Say it, Isodel.”

  Isodel looked at the perfectly ordinary scrap of cloth fluttering between Olga’s fingers and obediently said, “Lukin?”

  Immediately there were two Lukins, one standing beside the other. Isodel had no idea which one was the real one, until the one on the right scowled and said, “I don’t look anything like that!” at which everyone laughed heartily and said, “Yes, you do!”

  “Do I really look that sulky all the time?” the real Lukin asked.

  Unfortunately they had by this time more than used up the extra half hour Corkoran had given them in his eagerness to get back to his lab and were ten minutes late for Wermacht’s class. Wermacht might not have noticed if Elda had not been missing. Though he had been pretending for over a week now that Elda did not exist, a blank space where a large golden griffin should be is hard to ignore. And once he had noticed that, Wermacht also noticed the five other empty spaces. As Lukin spoke, he came striding out into the courtyard to investigate.

  “What do you think you’re doing out here?” he demanded, and blinked a little. For a moment he seemed to be seeing two Crown Princes of Luteria. But that was before Olga gave one of them a little shake and tossed a fluttering rag to Isodel. “You are of course welcome to miss all my classes,” Wermacht continued in his most sarcastic manner. “But I warn you that without my notes you’ll find yourselves quite unable to answer the questions in the end-of-term exams.”

  “Oh, dear,” sighed Claudia. “More trouble. We have to go, Isodel.”

  Isodel stuffed the rag into her pocket and jumped to the ground. “I’m so sorry, Wizard,” she said. “It was my fault. I paid my brother an unexpected visit and made everyone forget the time. Please forgive them.”

  She did not smile. She simply looked earnestly into Wermacht’s face. A besotted smile came over that face as she looked. Wermacht pulled his beard and straightened his shoulders. He bowed. “Oh, that’s all right, my lady. Anyone would forget the time in the circumstances.”

  “That’s very good of you,” Isodel said. This time she did smile, and Wermacht almost reeled. “Thank you, Wizard,” Isodel said, really meaning it.

  “Not at … not at all, not at all, anytime,” Wermacht replied devotedly.

  Lukin watched with appreciation. This was how it always was with Isodel. She did not intend to make people besotted with her. It happened because she always unfailingly meant what she said. And it even worked on Wermacht, this magnetism of hers. Fine, Lukin thought. He might be able to make use of this. He kissed his sister good-bye and looked back as he followed his friends to the North Lab, partly to watch the upright figure of his favorite sister walking toward the main gate but also to check on the equally upright shape of the cloakrack. Sure enough, it gave a little jerk as Claudia moved and came trundling after her. Lukin held the door of the North Lab open so that it could trundle inside, and he sat down in time to hear Elda whisper to Ruskin, “I didn’t know Wermacht was human before this!”

  Ruskin replied with a sigh. “Th
is proves I’m not. I liked her, but I prefer big fat healers.”

  “Er-hem!” went Wermacht, back to his ordinary behavior. “If you’re quite finished talking, you with the voice, perhaps we could get on?”

  Lukin grinned and set to work scribbling notes.

  An hour later, flexing his right hand to get the cramp out of it, he stood in Wermacht’s way as Wermacht strode to the door. “Excuse me, Wizard Wermacht, can I have a word with you?”

  Wermacht gave Lukin a haughty stare. “What is it?”

  “My sister,” said Lukin, and then, for the sake of telling the truth, pretended to lose his thread. “Isodel,” he added.

  Wermacht was attending instantly, bending toward Lukin and asking eagerly, “Is that her name?”

  Lukin nodded. “Very distressed about this business with the cloakrack,” he said.

  “What business with the cloakrack?” Wermacht demanded.

  Lukin pointed. Claudia, between Olga and Ruskin, was by now about ten feet out into the courtyard, jostling among the crowd of other students. As Lukin pointed, the cloakrack juddered on its three feet and began to slide after her. “She doesn’t like to think it was you who did that,” he said somewhat dishonestly.

  Wermacht glanced irately at the cloakrack. “Who told her such nonsense?” he said. He stretched out a long arm, caught the cloakrack by its wooden upright as it slid past, and pulled hard.

  Out in the courtyard Claudia screamed. Olga and Ruskin whirled around to look at Wermacht.

  “That ought not to have hurt her,” Wermacht said irritably.

  “But it did, didn’t it?” Lukin pointed out. “She’s thoroughly tied to it somehow. Isodel—”

  “All right, all right!” Wermacht put out both hands and felt the cloakrack all over, from its three legs, up its central pole, around the big double hooks at the top, and finally the loop at its apex. He seemed to have no more success than Ruskin and Elda had had. “I can’t feel anything!” he snapped. “It must be her imagination.” He took hold and gave the cloakrack a vicious jerk.

  Claudia screamed again, in evident anguish. This time Felim came running back among the students to see what was the matter. Beyond Felim, Elda opened her wings and came coasting across everyone’s heads to investigate, too.

  Elda looks twice the size when she’s flying! Lukin thought admiringly.

  Wermacht gave Elda a thoroughly nervous look. “I shall have to think about this,” he told Lukin. “Tell your sister I shall put my whole mind to the problem.”

  Lukin watched Wermacht stride hastily away. “Sorry,” he said to Claudia. “I’d no idea it would hurt you. I was trying to get Wermacht to take whatever he did off you, but I don’t think the fool knows what he did.”

  “Perhaps,” suggested Olga, “we should have a go at it ourselves.”

  “Not just now,” Claudia said. When Wermacht had pulled at the cloakrack, it had felt as if every nerve in her body was trying to come loose. She was still feeling faint and looking greenish.

  “Lunch,” said Ruskin.

  As he spoke, the students up ahead of them began milling about and giving interested murmurs. Someone was trying to push through them toward the Spellman Building. Claudia caught one glimpse of the shining helmet on the head of this person—or rather, the purple-and-red crest of horsehair on the top of his helmet—and hid behind Elda, looking greener than ever.

  She gasped. “Don’t let him see me!”

  Elda spread both wings a little to hide Claudia and stared above everyone’s head at the advancing person. In addition to the flashing gold-colored helmet, he wore a breastplate of the same shiny metal above a neat little skirt of white kidskin with metal plates dangling on it and sandals with metal shin guards below that. His wide sword made his short scarlet cloak stick out jauntily. Elda stared down at him with interest. She had never seen anyone dressed like this in the flesh, though her sister Callette had. Callette had been to the Empire and done paintings of legionaries. Elda had seen those. But she was quite astonished when this legionary strode right up to her and, bowing his helmeted head, dropped briefly on one knee in front of her. Elda could feel Claudia quivering behind her. She had no idea what to do. She was quite relieved when the man sprang smartly to his feet and, obviously not realizing Elda could speak, asked Felim, who was nearest, “Your pardon, young sir, where do I find the headmaster of this school?”

  “I fancy you must mean Wizard Corkoran,” Felim told him. “Go over there, to the Spellman Building. Someone in the office there will tell you how to find him.”

  The man thanked him and strode away. Elda’s head turned to watch him go. “Whyever did he kneel down like that?” she said.

  Claudia gave a weak little giggle behind her. “Didn’t you know? The golden griffin is the crest of the Emperor of the South. He was paying his respects to my brother, Titus.”

  TEN

  CLAUDIA’S FRIENDS WERE slightly puzzled when Claudia said she would do without lunch and meet them in Elda’s room afterward. “Do you not want to meet your brother then?” Felim asked.

  “It’s not my brother,” was all Claudia would say, and she left at a run with the faithful cloakrack clattering after.

  The others went into the refectory. Here they found that the new cook had produced a choice between the usual stew and sandwiches. “Using up leftover bread,” Ruskin said, gloomily prodding packets with a large finger. “Soft as a slug in the middle and hard as nails at the edges. Wait till I get my food-spells right.”

  “We might take Claudia some, though,” Olga suggested.

  They each stuffed a packet of the sandwiches into Elda’s bag and chose stew. Feeling more honest if they did without pudding—it was called fool and looked like brown custard, and no one wanted it, anyway—they left early. And stood staring in amazement at the bottom of the refectory steps as a trumpet rang out and a procession crossed the courtyard toward the Spellman Building.

  First came a squad of men dressed like the legionary who had knelt to Elda, all in step, skirts swinging demurely, helmet plumes bobbing in rhythm. These were followed by a second squad. In the space between the two squads, very stately and carefully not walking in step with the soldiers, came two elderly men draped in dark purple versions of Claudia’s wrap. You could tell they were important, Elda thought, because each of them had a band made of green leaves stuck end to end, like a crown, around his head. If that didn’t tell you, it was obvious from the important looks on their wrinkled faces.

  One of the wrinkled faces turned Elda’s way. Someone barked a command. Both squads wheeled through ninety degrees, and the procession advanced on Elda, spread out in a line now, with the wrinkled men in the middle.

  Lukin, muttering that his father had been at war with the Empire for the last eight years, backed out of sight behind Elda. Elda herself was so alarmed to find all these people pacing toward her that her front legs retreated toward her hind legs of their own accord, arcing her back and causing her wings to spring out on either side of her. Quite without meaning to, she bent her neck to the attack position and raised her crest. The measured steps of the advancing Empire people faltered, just slightly, at the sight.

  Ruskin uttered a buzzing moan of distress and dived under Elda’s outspread left wing. “Hide me!” he said desperately.

  The change in the direction of the procession had revealed the party of dwarfs that had been following it. They were even more resplendently caparisoned than the Empire party and were standing, annoyed and deserted, scowling toward Elda.

  “They’ve come to get me!” Ruskin’s voice buzzed, muffled and feathery.

  Elda made haste to bring her wings to her sides and to sit down. Her tail had been nervously lashing at Lukin’s shins, and she quickly brought it around to coil in front of her feet and hide Ruskin’s legs. But her crest stayed up. She was quite surprised by the surge of motherly protectiveness that swept through her. It was the feel of Ruskin huddled against her side and the sound of his voice
vibrating in her wing. Mother griffins, she realized of a sudden, were meant to protect their young ones this way.

  She watched alertly while the Empire party all went down on one knee before her, the wrinkled ones rather slowly and creakingly. Beyond them the dwarfs shrugged and continued on their way toward the Spellman Building. Elda was so relieved to see the dwarfs go that she said kindly to the Empire people, “Do get up, and I hope all the right things happen in the Empire.”

  They all jumped at hearing her speak, and even the soldiers floundered a bit getting to their feet. Once upright, they realized that the dwarf party was now ahead of them. Someone barked, “Quick, march!” and they all set off toward the Spellman Building at a walk that was nearly a sprint.

  Felim gently picked up the edge of Elda’s wing and peered in at the cowering Ruskin. “Why are you so very frightened?”

  “Get me to Elda’s room,” Ruskin buzzed back, “and I’ll explain.”

  Corkoran meanwhile was extremely irritated. Everyone seemed to be conspiring to stop him getting to work on the ideas his students had given him. First it was the high priest. Almost as soon as he was back in his lab, a healer appeared to say that the high priest’s broken leg was more comfortable today and that he wished to be returned to the Holy City. Now.

  You did not argue with high priests. Their gods could make things extremely uncomfortable for you if you did. So that meant that Corkoran had to find Finn and then Dench and take them over to Healers Hall, along with the ingredients of a transport spell. Holy City was a long way north, and it took three wizards to supply strength for the translocation. And it took the rest of the morning.

  Corkoran rushed back to his lab, only to find the porter waiting for him with the news that a party of important dwarfs wanted to see him at once.