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

“Very well,” the Princess agreed. “But we must get down to business now, child, beca

use I shall have to leave you soon to attend to my first guest.”

“My daughter is sparing you an hour or so,” the King said, “to explain to you what we do here in the library and how you may best assist us. This is because we gathered from your handwriting that you were not very old—which we see is the case—and so probably inexperienced.” He gave Charmain the most enchanting smile. “We really are most grateful to you for your offer of help, my dear. No one has ever considered that we might need assistance before.”

Charmain felt her face filling with heat. She knew she was blushing horribly. “My pleasure, Your—,” she managed to mutter.

“Pull your chair over to the table,” Princess Hilda interrupted, “and we’ll get down to work.”

As Charmain got up and dragged the heavy chair over, the King said courteously, “We hope you may not be too hot in here with the brazier beside you. It may be summer now, but we old people feel the cold these days.”

Charmain was still frozen with nerves. “Not at all, Sire,” she said.

“And Waif at least is happy,” the King said, pointing a gnarly finger. Waif had rolled over onto her back with all four paws in the air and was basking in the heat from the brazier. She seemed far happier than Charmain was.

“To work, Father,” the Princess said severely. She fetched up the glasses hanging from a chain round her neck and planted them on her aristocratic nose. The King fetched up a pair of pince-nez. Charmain fetched up her own glasses. If she had not been so nervous, she would have wanted to giggle at the way they all had to do this. “Now,” said the Princess, “we have in this library books, papers, and parchment scrolls. After a lifetime of labor, Father and I have managed to list roughly half the books—by name and author’s name—and assigned each a number, together with a brief account of what is in each book. Father will continue doing this, while you make yourself responsible for my main task, which is to catalog papers and scrolls. I have barely made a start there, I’m afraid. Here is my list.” She opened a large folder full of sheets of paper covered in elegant spidery writing, and spread a row of them in front of Charmain. “As you see, I have several main headings: Family Letters, Household Accounts, Historic Writings, and so on. Your task is to go through each pile of paper and decide exactly what every sheet contains. You then write a description of it under the appropriate heading, after which you put the paper carefully in one of these labeled boxes here. Is this clear so far?”

Charmain, leaning forward to look at the beautifully written lists, was afraid that she seemed awfully stupid. “What do I do,” she asked, “if I find a paper that doesn’t fit any of your headings, ma’am?”

“A very good question,” Princess Hilda said. “We are hoping that you will find a great many things that do not fit. When you do find one, consult my father at once, in case the paper is important. If it isn’t, put it in the box marked Miscellaneous. Now here is your first packet of papers. I’ll watch as you go through them to see how you go on. There is paper for your lists. Pen and ink are here. Please start.” She pushed a frayed brown packet of letters, tied together with pink tape, in front of Charmain and sat back to watch.

I’ve never known anything so off-putting! Charmain thought. She tremulously unpicked the pink knot and tried spreading the letters out a little.

“Pick each one up by its opposite corners,” Princess Hilda said. “Don’t push them.”

Oh, dear! Charmain thought. She glanced sideways at the King, who had taken up a wilted-looking soft leather book and was leafing carefully through it. I’d hoped to be doing that, she thought. She sighed and carefully opened the first crumbly brown letter.

“My dearest, gorgeous, wonderful darling,” she read. “I miss you so hideously…”

“Um,” she said to Princess Hilda, “is there a special box for love letters?”

“Yes, indeed,” said the Princess. “This one. Record the date and the name of the person who wrote it—Who was it, by the way?”

Charmain looked on to the end of the letter. “Um. It says ‘Big Dolphie.’”

Both the King and the Princess said, “Well!” and laughed, the King most heartily. “Then they are from my father to my mother,” Princess Hilda said. “My mother died many years ago now. But never mind that. Write it on your list.”

Charmain looked at the crumbly brown state of the paper and thought it must have been many years ago. She was surprised that the King did not seem to mind her reading it, but neither he nor the Princess seemed in the least worried. Perhaps royal people are different, she thought, looking at the next letter. It began “Dearest chuffy puffy one.” Oh, well. She got on with her task.

After a while, the Princess stood up and pushed her chair neatly up to the table. “This seems quite satisfactory,” she stated. “I must go. My guest will be arriving soon. I still wish I had been able to ask that husband of hers too, Father.”

“Out of the question, my dear,” the King said, without looking up from the notes he was making. “Poaching. He’s someone else’s Royal Wizard.”

“Oh, I know,” Princess Hilda said. “But I am also aware that Ingary has two Royal Wizards. And our poor William is ill and may be dying.”

“Life is never fair, my dear,” the King said, still scratching away with his quill pen. “Besides, William had no more success than we have had.”

“I’m aware of that too, Father,” Princess Hilda said as she left the library. The door shut with a heavy thud behind her.

Charmain bent over her next pile of papers, trying to look as if she had not been listening. It seemed private. This pile of paper had been tied into a bundle for so long that each sheet had stuck to the next one, all dry and brownish, like a wasps’ nest Charmain had once found in the attic at home. She became very busy trying to separate the layers.

“Er-hem,” said the King. Charmain looked up to see that he was smiling at her, with his quill in the air and a sideways twinkle at her from above his glasses. “I see you are a very discreet young lady,” he said. “And you must have gathered from our talk just now that we—and your great-uncle with us—are searching for some very important things. My daughter’s headings will give you some clue what to look out for. Your key words will be ‘treasury,’ ‘revenues,’ ‘gold,’ and ‘elfgift.’ If you find a mention of any of these, my dear, please tell me at once.”

The idea of looking for such important things made Charmain’s fingers on the frail paper go all cold and clumsy. “Yes. Yes of course, Your Majesty,” she said.

Rather to her relief, that packet of papers was nothing but lists of goods and their prices—all of which seemed surprisingly low. “To ten pounds of wax candles at two pennies a pound, twenty pence,” she read. Well, it did seem to date from two hundred years ago. “To six ounces of finest saffron, thirty pence. To nine logs of fragrant applewood for the scenting of the chief chambers, one farthing.” And so on. The next page was full of things like “To forty ells of linen drapes, forty-four shillings.” Charmain made careful notes, put those pages in the box labeled Household Accounts, and peeled up the next sheet.

“Oh!” she said. The next sheet said, “To Wizard Melicot, for the enchanting of one hundred square feet of tinne tilings to give the appearance of a golden roofe, 200 guineas.”