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

“No,” Charmain said. “I came by myself. I’m looking after Great-Uncle William’s house. Remember?”

“Oh, so you are,” her father said. “What can I do for you?”

“Er…,” Charmain said. This was hard to say now that she had been reminded what an expert her father was.

He said, “Just a moment,” and turned to search through rows of powdered herbs and spices on a shelf beside the stoves. He selected a jar, uncapped it, and shook just a sprinkle of something into the saucepan. He stirred the mixture, tasted it, and nodded. “That’ll do now,” he said, putting the saucepan down to cool. Then he looked questioningly at Charmain.

“I don’t know how to cook, Dad,” she blurted out, “and the food for the evening comes raw in Great-Uncle William’s house. You don’t happen to have any instructions written down, do you? For apprentices or something?”

Mr. Baker pulled at his freckly chin with his clean, clean hand, thinking. “I always told your mother you’d need to know some of those things,” he said. “Respectable or not. Let’s see. Most of what I’ve got will be a bit advanced for you. Patisserie and gourmet sauces and such. I expect my apprentices to come to me knowing the basics, these days. But I think I still may have some of the elementary, simple notes from back when I started. Let’s go and see, shall we?”

He led the way across the bake house, among the thronging, busy cooks, to the far wall. There were a few rickety shelves there, piled higgledy-piggledy with notebooks, pieces of paper with jam stains on them, and fat files covered with floury fingerprints. “Wait a moment,” Mr. Baker said, pausing by the leftovers table beside these shelves. “I’d better give you some food to go on with, while you’re reading up on it, hadn’t I?”

Charmain knew this table well. Waif would have loved it. On it were any pieces of baking that had not turned out quite perfect: broken tarts, lopsided buns, and cracked pasties, together with all the things from the shop that had not been sold that day. The bake house workers were allowed to carry these home if they wanted. Mr. Baker picked up one of the sacking bags the workers used and began swiftly filling it. A whole cream cake went in at the bottom, followed by a layer of pasties, then buns, doughnuts, and finally a large cheese flan. He left the bulging bag on the table while he searched about on the shelves.

“Here we are,” he said, pulling forth a floppy brown notebook, dark with old grease. “I thought I still had it! This was from when I started as a lad in the restaurant on Market Place. I was as ignorant as you are then, so it should be just what you need. Do you want the spells that go with the recipes?”

“Spells!” said Charmain. “But, Dad—!”

Mr. Baker looked as guilty as Charmain had ever seen him. His freckles, for a moment, were drowned in redness. “I know, I know, Charmain. Your mother would have seventy fits. She will insist that magic is low, vulgar stuff. But I was born a magic user and I can’t help myself, not when I’m cooking. We use magic all the time, here in the bake house. Be a good, kind girl and don’t let your mother know. Please?” He pulled a thin yellow notebook off the shelves and flapped it wistfully. “These, in here, are all plain, simple spells that work. Do you want this?”

“Yes, please!” Charmain said. “And of course I won’t say a word to Mother. I know what she’s like as well as you do.”

“Good girl!” said Mr. Baker. He swiftly slid both notebooks down into the bag beside the cheese flan and passed Charmain the bag. They grinned at one another like conspirators. “Happy eating,” Mr. Baker said. “Good luck.”

“You too,” Charmain said. “And thank you, Dad!” She stretched up and kissed him on his floury, freckled cheek, just below the cook’s hat, and then made her way out of the bake house.

“You lucky thing!” Lorna called out to her while Charmain was pushing open the door. “I had my eye on that cream cake he gave you.”

“There were two of them,” Charmain called over her shoulder, as she went through into the shop.

There, to her surprise, she found Timmy sitting on the glass-and-marble counter with Waif in his arms. He explained, rather defensively, “She was really upset when you left her. Started howling her head off.”

Perhaps we won’t be lifelong enemies after all! Charmain thought, as Waif leaped out of Timmy’s arms, shrieking with delight. She danced about Charmain’s ankles and generally made such a noise that Timmy evidently did not hear Charmain thank him. Charmain made sure to give a great smile and to nod at him as she went out into the street, with Waif frisking and squeaking round her feet.

The shop and bake house were on the other side of the town from the river and the embankment. Charmain could have cut across to there, but it was shorter—with Waif having to walk, because Charmain was carrying the bulging bag—to go along High Street inste

ad. High Street, although it was one of the main streets, was far from seeming that way. It was twisting and narrow, with no sidewalks, but the shops on either side were some of the best. Charmain walked slowly along, looking into shops to give Waif time to keep up, dodging late shoppers and people just strolling before supper, and thinking. Her thoughts were divided between satisfaction—Peter has no excuse now for making any more horrible food—and amazement. Dad is a magic user! He always has been. Up until then, Charmain had felt a lot of hidden guilt at the way she had experimented with The Boke of Palimpsest, but she found that had gone now. I think I may have inherited Dad’s magic! Oh, great! Then I know I can do spells. But why does Dad always do what Mother says? He insists on me being respectable as much as Mother does. Honestly, parents! Charmain found she was feeling very jolly altogether about this.

At this point there was a tremendous clatter of horse hooves coming up behind her, mixed with rumbling and deep shouts of “Clear the way! Clear the way!”

Charmain glanced round and found riders in some kind of uniform filling the street, coming so fast that they were almost on top of her already. People on foot were flattening themselves against shops and walls on either side of the street. Charmain whirled round, reaching for Waif. She tripped over someone’s doorstep and half-knelt on the bag of food, but she got Waif and managed not to drop the bag. Holding Waif and the bag in both arms, she backed against the nearest wall, while horses’ legs and men’s feet in stirrups pounded past in front of her nose. Those were followed by a whole string more of galloping horses, shining black ones in long leather traces and a whip cracking across their backs. After them a great colorful coach thundered by, glinting with gold and glass and painted shields, with two men in feathered hats swaying on the back of it. This was followed by yet more uniforms on horses, galloping deafeningly.

Then they were gone, away down the street and round the next bend. Waif whimpered. Charmain sagged against the wall. “What on earth was that?” she said to the person flattened against the wall beside her.

“That,” said the woman, “was Crown Prince Ludovic. On his way to visit the King, I suppose.” She was a fair and slightly fierce-looking lady, who reminded Charmain just a little of Sophie Pendragon. She was clutching a small boy, who might have reminded Charmain of Morgan, except that he was not making any noise at all. He looked to be shocked white, rather the way Charmain felt herself.

“He ought to know better than to go that fast in a narrow street like this!” Charmain said angrily. “Someone could have been hurt!” She looked into her bag and discovered that the flan had broken in half and folded up, which made her angrier than ever. “Why couldn’t he have gone down the embankment, where it’s wide?” she said. “Doesn’t he care?”

“Not a lot,” said the woman.

“Then I shudder to think what he’ll be like when he’s King!” Charmain said. “He’s going to be dreadful!”

The woman gave her a strange, meaningful stare. “I didn’t hear you say that,” she said.

“Why?” asked Charmain.

“Ludovic doesn’t like criticism,” the woman said. “He has lubbockins to enforce his feelings. Lubbockins, you hear, girl! Let’s hope I was the only one who heard what you said.” She heaved the little boy higher in her arms and walked away.