House of Many Ways (Howl's Moving Castle 3)

“Nothing,” Charmain said soothingly. “Only Great-Uncle William’s guard dog, you know. She’s terribly greedy—”

“You have a dog here!” Mrs. Baker interrupted, in the greatest alarm. “I’m not sure I like that, Charmain. Dogs are so dirty. And you could get bitten! I hope you keep it chained up.”

“No, no, no, she’s terribly clean. And obedient,” Charmain said, wondering if this was true. “It’s just—it’s just that she overeats. Great-Uncle William tries to keep her on a diet, so of course she was after one of these cakes—”

The kitchen door opened again. This time it was Peter’s face that came round the edge of it, with a look on it that suggested that

Peter had something urgent to say. The look turned to horror as he took in Aunt Sempronia’s finery and Mrs. Baker’s respectability.

“Here she is again,” Charmain said, rather desperately. “Waif, go away!”

Peter took the hint and vanished, just before Aunt Sempronia could turn round again and see him. Mrs. Baker looked more alarmed than ever.

“You worry too much, Berenice,” Aunt Sempronia said. “I admit that dogs are smelly and dirty and noisy, but there’s nothing to beat a good guard dog for keeping a house safe. You should be glad that Charmain has one.”

“I suppose so,” Mrs. Baker agreed, sounding wholly unconvinced. “But—but didn’t you tell me this house is protected by—your great-uncle’s…er…wizardly arts?”

“Yes, yes, it is!” Charmain said eagerly. “The place is doubly safe!”

“Of course it is,” said Aunt Sempronia. “I believe that nothing can get in here that hasn’t been invited over the threshold.”

As if to prove Aunt Sempronia completely wrong there, a kobold suddenly appeared on the floor beside the trolley. “Now, look here!” he said, small and blue and aggressive.

Mrs. Baker gave a shriek and clutched her coffee cup to her bosom. Aunt Sempronia drew her skirts back from him in a stately way. The kobold stared at them, clearly puzzled, and then looked at Charmain. He was not the garden kobold. His nose was bigger, his blue clothing was of finer cloth, and he looked as if he was used to giving orders.

“Are you an important kobold?” Charmain asked him.

“Well,” the kobold said, rather taken aback, “you could say that. I’m chieftain in these parts, name of Timminz. I’m leading this deputation, and we’re all pretty annoyed. And now we’re told that the wizard isn’t here, or won’t see us, or—”

Charmain could see he was working himself into a rage. She said quickly, “That’s true. He’s not here. He’s ill. The elves have taken him away to cure him, and I’m looking after his house while he’s away.”

The kobold hunched his eyes over his great blue nose and glowered at her. “Are you telling the truth?”

I seem to have spent all day being told I’m lying! Charmain thought angrily.

“It is the exact truth,” Aunt Sempronia said. “William Norland is not here at present. So will you be so kind as to take yourself off, my good kobold. You are frightening poor Mrs. Baker.”

The kobold glowered at her and then at Mrs. Baker. “Then,” he said to Charmain, “I don’t see any chance of this dispute being settled, ever!” And he was gone as suddenly as he had come.

“Oh, my goodness!” Mrs. Baker gasped, holding her chest. “So little! So blue! How did it get in? Don’t let it run up your skirt, Charmain!”

“It was only a kobold,” Aunt Sempronia said. “Pull yourself together, Berenice. Kobolds as a rule do not get on with humans, so I have no idea what it was doing here. But I suppose Great-Uncle William must have had some sort of dealings with the creatures. There’s no accounting for wizards.”

“And I’ve spilled coffee—” Mrs. Baker wailed, mopping at her skirt.

Charmain took the little cup and soothingly filled it with coffee again. “Have another cake, Mother,” she said, holding the plate out. “Great-Uncle William has a kobold to do the gardening, and that one was angry too when I met him—”

“What was the gardener doing in the living room?” Mrs. Baker demanded.

As often happened, Charmain began to despair of getting her mother to understand. She’s not stupid, she just never lets her mind out, she thought. “That was a different kobold,” she began.

The kitchen door opened and Waif trotted in. She was the right size again. That meant that she was, if anything, smaller than the kobold and very pleased with herself for shrinking. She trotted jauntily across to Charmain and raised her nose wistfully toward the cake plate.

“Honestly, Waif!” Charmain said. “When I think how much you ate for breakfast!”

“Is that the guard dog?” Mrs. Baker quavered.

“If it is,” Aunt Sempronia opined, “it would come off second best against a mouse. How much did you say it ate for breakfast?”