My grandfather was galvanized. “Quick!” he said. “Into my car, Nick, Toby, Grundo, Roddy—all of you. I’ll have Roddy for the month, Annie. Can you stay and sort things out here?” he asked Romanov over one shoulder as he rushed to the car. “Come and fetch whichever boys you want in a month’s time.”
That was typical Grandad, getting his own way in spite of everything. Romanov actually laughed as we drove away.
r /> It was typical, too, that Grandad didn’t scold Dora—though I think he should have done—when she crept into his house late that night. And it was equally typical that as soon as he saw how upset Nick was, he immediately started us on what he calls The Grand Project, which is for me and Nick to write down exactly what happened to both of us. He says he needs it for Magid reasons. So for this last month we have done just that, me in the dining room and Nick up in the room he shares with Grundo. I think it might have made Nick feel a little better. And there isn’t much else to do, because Dad has changed the weather to rain and rain and yet more rain. Toby and Grundo have been quite bored now that they have got all the salamanders put where they can be dry. And it has taken me the entire month to write everything down, but I think I’ve finished now—which is just as well, because I can hear Mrs. Candace’s voice in the hall. I feel so nervous.
NICK
I’ve done what Maxwell Hyde wanted—he says his Upper Room needs to see this—but I still feel, well, maimed. It was not so much what Japheth did, although that hurt like crazy; it was being sort of invaded by someone else’s hatred. And I can’t get over the way such small things led to such incredibly large, violent events. It’s like the way I told that old man in Loggia City that his tapestry was beautiful, and that destroyed the city. I answered the phone to Sybil, and that seems to have set her on to grab power and make her conspiracy. And I laughed at Japheth. That was all I did.
Maxwell Hyde said, when I told him this, that large things often do hinge on very small incidents. “And I don’t believe for a moment your laughing at him set that Japheth on to murder his Prayermaster,” he said. “I’d very much like to know what other criminal activities those two got up to between rushing off in that flier and turning up just recently.”
I got up the courage to ask him what had happened to Joel then. “Well,” he said, “I was fighting my way out of a skein of cotton wool at the time, but I got the impression that a spotted cat of some kind tore him to bits. The creature was covered with blood when I saw it. But don’t tell Roddy. It’s not the kind of thing she can take.”
He may be right, although Roddy is actually quite tough. I got to know her quite well, in a subdued sort of way, this last month. The trouble with Roddy is that she is too eaten up inside with magic. It’s going to take me years to get through to her. But I’m going to keep trying. The problem is, I don’t know quite how I shall manage it, what with her being on Blest and me being on Earth. I shall have to go back to see Dad. He needs looking after. I see that now. I shouldn’t have blurted out to Romanov that I wanted to go with him.
But I do want to see Romanov and get him to teach me, even though Romanov is bound to be ten times more demanding than Maxwell Hyde. I do want to be a free operator like Romanov. Much as I like Maxwell Hyde, I keep running up against his limits. In the last resort, he always has to do what his bosses in the Upper Room want, and I don’t think I could stand that. I’d go mad after six months.
There was a noise in the street. I went to look and saw Mrs. Candace getting out of that brown car. I shall have to go down and say good-bye to Roddy. But the noise was from the ring of kids standing round Mini. Romanov has come to fetch Grundo, too. I have to go and explain to him that I’m not going with Grundo, not yet, and make an arrangement to get to his island later. I’ll go when I’ve made sure that my dad will be all right for the rest of his life.
Read on for an excerpt from Howl’s Moving Castle
Chapter One
IN WHICH SOPHIE TALKS TO HATS
In the land of Ingary, where such things as seven-league boots and cloaks of invisibility really exist, it is quite a misfortune to be born the eldest of three. Everyone knows you are the one who will fail first, and worst, if the three of you set out to seek your fortunes.
Sophie Hatter was the eldest of three sisters. She was not even the child of a poor woodcutter, which might have given her some chance of success! Her parents were well to do and kept a ladies’ hat shop in the prosperous town of Market Chipping. True, her own mother died when Sophie was two years old and her sister Lettie was one year old, and their father married his youngest shop assistant, a pretty blonde girl called Fanny. Fanny shortly gave birth to the third sister, Martha. This ought to have made Sophie and Lettie into Ugly Sisters, but in fact all three girls grew up very pretty indeed, though Lettie was the one everyone said was most beautiful. Fanny treated all three girls with the same kindness and did not favor Martha in the least.
Mr. Hatter was proud of his three daughters and sent them all to the best school in town. Sophie was the most studious. She read a great deal, and very soon realized how little chance she had of an interesting future. It was a disappointment to her, but she was still happy enough, looking after her sisters and grooming Martha to seek her fortune when the time came. Since Fanny was always busy in the shop, Sophie was the one who looked after the younger two. There was a certain amount of screaming and hair-pulling between those younger two. Lettie was by no means resigned to being the one who, next to Sophie, was bound to be the least successful.
“It’s not fair!” Lettie would shout. “Why should Martha have the best of it just because she was born the youngest? I shall marry a prince, so there!”
To which Martha always retorted that she would end up disgustingly rich without having to marry anybody.
Then Sophie would have to drag them apart and mend their clothes. She was very deft with her needle. As time went on, she made clothes for her sisters too. There was one deep rose outfit she made for Lettie, the May Day before this story really starts, which Fanny said looked as if it had come from the most expensive shop in Kingsbury.
About this time everyone began talking of the Witch of the Waste again. It was said the Witch had threatened the life of the King’s daughter and that the King had commanded his personal magician, Wizard Suliman, to go into the Waste and deal with the Witch. And it seemed that Wizard Suliman had not only failed to deal with the Witch: he had got himself killed by her.
So when, a few months after that, a tall black castle suddenly appeared on the hills above Market Chipping, blowing clouds of black smoke from its four tall, thin turrets, everybody was fairly sure that the Witch had moved out of the Waste again and was about to terrorize the country the way she used to fifty years ago. People got very scared indeed. Nobody went out alone, particularly at night. What made it all the scarier was that the castle did not stay in the same place. Sometimes it was a tall black smudge on the moors to the northwest, sometimes it reared above the rocks to the east, and sometimes it came right downhill to sit in the heather only just beyond the last farm to the north. You could see it actually moving sometimes, with smoke pouring out from the turrets in dirty gray gusts. For a while everyone was certain that the castle would come right down into the valley before long, and the Mayor talked of sending to the King for help.
But the castle stayed roving about the hills, and it was learned that it did not belong to the Witch but to Wizard Howl. Wizard Howl was bad enough. Though he did not seem to want to leave the hills, he was known to amuse himself by collecting young girls and sucking the souls from them. Or some people said he ate their hearts. He was an utterly cold-blooded and heartless wizard and no young girl was safe from him if he caught her on her own. Sophie, Lettie, and Martha, along with all the other girls in Market Chipping, were warned never to go out alone, which was a great annoyance to them. They wondered what use Wizard Howl found for all the souls he collected.
They had other things on their minds before long, however, for Mr. Hatter died suddenly just as Sophie was old enough to leave school for good. It then appeared that Mr. Hatter had been altogether too proud of his daughters. The school fees he had been paying had left the shop with quite heavy debts. When the funeral was over, Fanny sat down in the parlor in the house next door to the shop and explained the situation.
“You’ll all have to leave that school, I’m afraid,” she said. “I’ve been
doing sums back and front and sideways, and the only way I can see to keep the business going and take care of the three of you is to see you all settled in a promising apprenticeship somewhere. It isn’t practical to have you all in the shop. I can’t afford it. So this is what I’ve decided. Lettie first—”
Lettie looked up, glowing with health and beauty which even sorrow and black clothes could not hide. “I want to go on learning,” she said.
“So you shall, love,” said Fanny. “I’ve arranged for you to be apprenticed to Cesari’s, the pastry cook in Market Square. They’ve a name for treating their learners like kings and queens, and you should be very happy there, as well as learning a useful trade. Mrs. Cesari’s a good customer and a good friend, and she’s agreed to squeeze you in as a favor.”
Lettie laughed in the way that showed she was not at all pleased. “Well, thank you,” she said. “Isn’t it lucky that I like cooking?”
Fanny looked relieved. Lettie could be awkwardly strong-minded at times. “Now Martha,” she said. “I know you’re full young to go out to work, so I’ve thought round for something that would give you a long, quiet apprenticeship and go on being useful to you whatever you decide to do after that. You know my old school friend Annabel Fairfax?”
Martha, who was slender and fair, fixed her big gray eyes on Fanny almost as strong-mindedly as Lettie. “You mean the one who talks such a lot,” she said. “Isn’t she a witch?”