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

“Calcifer destroying the lubbock eggs, of course,” said Charmain. “The rocks he went to are straight under the meadow.”

They both blinked and blinked, trying to clear away blobs of blue and gray and yellow dazzle that would keep floating inside their eyes. They both peered and peered. It was hard to believe it, but nearly half the meadow was now missing. A curved piece, like a huge bite, had gone from the sloping green space. Below that, there must have been quite a landslide.

“Hmm,” said Peter. “You don’t think he destroyed himself as well, do you?”

Charmain said, “I hope not!”

They waited and watched. Sounds came back to their ears, almost as usual apart from a little fizzing. The blots gradually faded from their eyes. After a while, they both noticed that the castle was drifting, in a sad, lost way, across the meadow toward the rocks at the other end. They waited and watched until it drifted up over the rocks and out of sight along the mountainside. There was still no sign of Calcifer.

“He probably came back to the kitchen,” Peter suggested.

They went back there. They opened the back door and peered out among the laundry, but there was no sign anywhere of a floating blue teardrop shape. They went through the living room and opened the front

door. But the only blue out there was the hydrangeas.

“Do fire demons die?” Peter said.

“I’ve no idea,” Charmain said. As always, in times of trouble, she knew what she wanted to do. “I’m going to read a book,” she said. She sat on the nearest sofa, pulled her glasses up, and picked The Magician’s Journey up off the floor. Peter gave an angry sigh and went away.

But it was no good. Charmain could not concentrate. She kept thinking of Sophie, and of Morgan too. It was quite plain to her that Calcifer was, in some strange way, part of Sophie’s family. “It would be even worse than losing you,” she said to Waif, who had come to sit on her shoes. She wondered if she should go to the Royal Mansion and tell Sophie what had happened. But it was dark now. Sophie was probably having to have formal supper, sitting opposite the lubbockin prince, with candles and things. Charmain did not think she dared interrupt another occasion in the Mansion. Besides, Sophie was worried sick about that threat to Morgan. Charmain did not want to worry her more. And perhaps Calcifer would turn up in the morning. He was made of fire, after all. On the other hand, that explosion was enough to blow anything to bits. Charmain thought of bits of blue flame scattered about inside a landslide—

Peter came back into the living room. “I know what we ought to do,” he said.

“Yes?” Charmain said eagerly.

“We ought to go and tell the kobolds about Rollo,” Peter said.

Charmain stared. Took her glasses off and stared more clearly. “What have the kobolds got to do with Calcifer?”

“Nothing,” Peter said, rather puzzled. “But we can prove that the lubbock paid Rollo to make trouble.”

Charmain wondered whether to spring up and hit him round the head with The Magician’s Journey. Bother the kobolds!

“We ought to go now,” Peter began persuasively, “before—”

“In the morning,” Charmain said, firmly and definitely. “In the morning, after we’ve been up to those rocks to see what happened to Calcifer.”

“But—,” said Peter.

“Because,” Charmain said, quickly thinking of reasons, “Rollo’s going to be off somewhere hiding his crock of gold. He ought to be there when you accuse him.”

To her surprise, Peter thought about this and agreed with her. “And we ought to tidy Wizard Norland’s bedroom,” he said, “in case they bring him back tomorrow.”

“You go and do that,” Charmain said—before I throw my book at you, she thought, and probably the vase of flowers after that!

Chapter Fourteen

WHICH IS FULL OF KOBOLDS AGAIN

Charmain was still thinking of Calcifer when she got up next morning. As she came out of the bathroom, she saw that Peter was busily engaged in changing the sheets on Great-Uncle William’s bed and stuffing the old sheets into a laundry bag. Charmain sighed. More work.

“Still,” she said to Waif as she put down the usual bowl of dog food, “it keeps him busy and happy while I look for Calcifer. Now, are you coming up to those rocks with me?”

Waif, as always, was only too pleased to go wherever Charmain went. After breakfast, she trotted eagerly after Charmain through the living room to the front door. But they never went to the rocks. As Charmain put out her hand to the doorknob, Waif charged out from behind her and burst the door open. And there was Rollo on the doorstep in the act of reaching his small blue hand out for his daily crock of milk. Uttering tiny snarls, Waif sprang upon him, got her jaws round Rollo’s neck, and pinned him to the ground.

“Peter!” Charmain roared, standing in a pool of spilled milk. “Come quickly! We need a bag!” She put one foot on Rollo to keep him in place. “Bag! Bag!” she screamed. Rollo kicked madly and bounced about under her shoe, while Waif let go of him in order to bark. Rollo added to the din by yelling, “Help! Murder! Assault!” in a strong grating howl.

Peter, to do him justice, arrived at a run. He took one look at the scene in the doorway and snatched up one of Mrs. Baker’s embroidered food bags, which he managed to get over Rollo’s flailing legs before Charmain could draw breath to explain. Next second, Peter had the bag entirely over Rollo and was holding it up, bulging, twisting, and dripping milk, while he tried to reach one of his own pockets.