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

“My son, Peter,” said the Witch, “who is now most probably heir to your throne, Sire.”

“Pleased to meet you, my boy,” the King said. “This has all become very confusing. Won’t somebody give me an explanation?”

“I will give you one, Sire,” the Witch said.

“Perhaps we should all sit down,” the Princess suggested. “Sim, be good enough to remove these two…er…dead rabbits, please.”

“Very good, ma’am,” Sim said. He shuffled rapidly about the room, gathering up the two corpses. He was clearly so anxious not to miss whatever the Witch was going to say, that Charmain was sure he simply dumped the rabbits outside the door. By the time he hurried back into the room, everyone had settled onto the grand but faded sofas, except for Great-Uncle William, who lay back on his cushions looking thin and weary, and Timminz, who sat himself on a cushion beside Great-Uncle William’s ear. Calcifer went back to roost in the grate. Sophie took Morgan on her knee, where Morgan put his thumb in his mouth and went to sleep. And Wizard Howl at last handed Waif back to Charmain. He did it with such a dazzlingly apologetic smile that Charmain felt quite flustered.

I like him much better as a grown-up man, she thought. No wonder Sophie was so annoyed with Twinkle! Waif meanwhile squeaked and bounced and put her paws on Charmain’s dangling glasses in order to lick her chin. Charmain rubbed Waif’s ears and stroked the frayed hair on the top of Waif’s head while she listened to what Peter’s mother had to say.

“As you may know,” the Witch said, “I married my cousin Hans Nicholas, who was at that time third in succession to the throne of High Norland. I was fifth, but as a woman I didn’t really count, and besides, the only thing I wanted in the world was to be a professional witch. Hans was not interested in being King either. His passion was for climbing mountains and discovering caves and new passes among the glaciers. We were quite content to leave our cousin Ludovic to be heir to the throne. Neither of us liked him, and Hans always said Ludovic was the most selfish and unfeeling person he knew, but we both thought that if we went away and showed we had no interest in the throne, he wouldn’t bother us.

“So we moved to Montalbino, where I took up office as Witch and Hans became a mountain guide; and we were very happy until just after Peter was born, when it became dreadfully plain that our other cousins were dying like flies. And not only dying, but also said to be wicked and dying because of their wickedness. When my cousin Isolla Matilda, who was the kindest and gentlest of girls, was killed while apparently attempting to murder someone, Hans became positive that Ludovic was doing it. ‘Systematically killing off all the other heirs to the throne,’ he said. ‘And giving us all a bad name while he does it.’

“I became simply terrified for Hans and for Peter. By that time Hans was next heir after Ludovic and Peter came after that. So I got out my broomstick, put Peter into a sling on my back, and flew all the way down to Ingary to consult Mrs. Pentstemmon, who had trained me as a witch. I believe,” the Witch said, turning to Howl, “that she trained you too, Wizard Howl.”

Howl gave her one of his scintillating smiles. “That was much later. I was her ver

y last pupil.”

“Then you know that she was the best,” said the Witch of Montalbino. “You agree?” Howl nodded. “You could trust everything she told you,” the Witch went on. “She was always right.” Sophie nodded too at this, a little ruefully. “But when I consulted her,” said the Witch, “she was not sure that there was anything I could do except take Peter and go very far away. Inhico, she thought. I said, ‘But what about Hans?’ and she agreed I was right to be worried. ‘Give me half a day,’ she said, ‘to find an answer for you,’ and she went and shut herself into her workroom. Less than half a day later, she came out almost in a panic. I’d never seen her so upset before. ‘My dear,’ she said, ‘your cousin Ludovic is a vile creature called a lubbockin, offspring of a lubbock that roams the hills between High Norland and Montalbino, and he is doing just what your Hans suspected he was doing, no doubt with the help of that lubbock. You must hurry home to Montalbino at once! Let us pray you get there in time. And on no account tell anyone who this little lad of yours is—don’t tell him or anyone else, or the lubbock will try to kill him too!’”

“Oh, is that why you never told me all this before?” Peter said. “You should have done. I can look after myself.”

“That,” said his mother, “is exactly what poor Hans thought too. I should have made him come to Ingary with us. Don’t interrupt, Peter. You nearly made me forget the last thing Mrs. Pentstemmon said to me, which was, ‘There is an answer, my dear. In your native land, there is, or was, something called the Elfgift belonging to the royal family, which has the power to keep the King safe and the whole country with him. Go and ask the King of High Norland to lend this Elfgift to Peter. It will keep him safe.’ So I thanked her and put Peter on my back again and flew as fast as I could to Montalbino. I meant to ask Hans to come with me to High Norland to ask for the Elfgift, but when I got home they told me Hans was up in the Gretterhorns with the mountain rescue team. I had the most horrible premonition then. I flew straight on up into the mountains, with Peter still on my back. He was crying with hunger by then, but I didn’t dare stop. And I just got there in time to see the lubbock start the avalanche that killed Hans.”

The Witch stopped here, as if she could not bear to go on. Everyone waited respectfully while she swallowed and dabbed at her eyes with a multicolored handkerchief. Then she shook her shoulders efficiently and said, “I put protections round Peter at once, of course, the strongest possible. They’ve never once been off him. I let him grow up as secretly as possible and I didn’t mind at all when Ludovic began telling people that I was a mad prisoner in Castel Joie. That meant no one knew about Peter, you see. And the day after the avalanche, I left Peter with a neighbor and went to High Norland. You probably remember me coming, don’t you?” she asked the King.

“Yes, I do,” said the King. “But you said nothing about Peter, or Hans, and I had no idea it was all so sad and urgent. And of course I hadn’t got the Elfgift. I didn’t even know what it looked like. All you did was to start me off, together with my good friend Wizard Norland here, looking for the Elfgift. We’ve been hunting for it for thirteen years now. And we haven’t got very far, have we, William?”

“We’ve got nowhere at all,” Great-Uncle William agreed from the sled chair. He chuckled. “But people will keep thinking that I’m the expert on the Elfgift. Some folks even say that I’m the Elfgift and I guard the King. I do try to guard him, of course, but not like an Elfgift would.”

“That’s one of the reasons I sent Peter to you,” said the Witch. “It was always possible that the rumors were true. And I knew you could keep Peter safe anyway. I’ve been looking for that Elfgift myself for years, because I thought it could probably get rid of Ludovic. Beatrice of Strangia told me that Wizard Howl of Ingary was better at divination than any wizard in the world, so I went to Ingary to ask him to find it for me.”

Wizard Howl threw his flaxen head back and began to laugh. “And you have to admit that I did find it!” he said. “Most unexpectedly. There it sits, on Miss Charming’s lap!”

“What—Waif?” said Charmain. Waif wagged her tail and looked demure.

Howl nodded. “That’s right. Your little enchanting dog.” He turned to the King. “Don’t those records of yours talk about a dog anywhere?”

“Frequently,” said the King. “But I had no idea—My great-grandfather held a State Funeral for his dog when it died, and I simply wondered what all the fuss was about!”

Princess Hilda coughed gently. “Of course, most of our oil paintings have been sold now,” she said, “but I do remember that a lot of our earlier kings were painted with a dog at their sides. They were generally a little…er…nobler looking than Waif, however.”

“I imagine they come all sizes and shapes,” Great-Uncle William put in. “It looks to me as if the Elfgift is something certain dogs inherit, and the later kings forgot to breed them properly. Now, for instance, when Waif has her puppies a bit later this year—”

“What?” said Charmain. “Puppies!” Waif wagged her tail again and looked even more demure. Charmain pushed Waif’s chin up and stared accusingly into her eyes. “The cook’s dog?” she asked. Waif blinked bashfully. “Oh, Waif!” Charmain wailed. “Goodness knows what they’ll look like!”

“We must wait and hope,” said Great-Uncle William. “One of those pups will have inherited the Elfgift. But there is one other important aspect to this, my dear. Waif has adopted you, and this makes you High Norland’s Elfgift Guardian. Also, since the Witch of Montalbino here tells me that The Boke of Palimpsest has adopted you too—It has, hasn’t it?”

“I…er…um. It did make me do spells out of it,” Charmain admitted.

“Then that settles it,” Great-Uncle William said, nestling contentedly back on his cushions. “You come and live with me as my apprentice from now on. You need to learn how to help Waif protect the country properly.”

“Yes…oh…but…,” Charmain babbled, “Mother won’t allow me…. She says magic’s not respectable. My dad won’t mind, probably,” she added. “But my mother—”

“I’ll fix her,” said Great-Uncle William. “If necessary, I’ll set your Aunt Sempronia on her.”