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“Darkness is as beautiful as light,” he said.

  “It is,” said Jackbones.

  “Nothing ever really goes wrong in the Deep World,” said Tadpole. “Not the way it has here.”

  “Let’s hope it stays that way. It’s a long time since I was there. I’d forgotten how beautiful the light there is.”

  Tadpole stared at him. “You’ve been to the Deep World before?”

  “I’m a very old wizard, lad. There’s not much I haven’t done.”

  Tadpole shook his head. “You could have told me.”

  The roffle door was at a street corner. Rows of small houses ran away in four directions. Smoke from chimneys rippled above the rooftops. Tadpole could hear voices of people talking, children laughing. Lights cast shadows on the curtains.

  “Where are we going? Have you been here before?”

  “I have. Long ago. But I remember.”

  Jackbones led him to a house near the end of a row. The lights were out. There was no smoke from the chimney. Tadpole strained to hear at the door. All was silence.

  “Not here,” he said. “It’s a wasted journey.”

  Jackbones put the palm of his hand to the door. Tadpole was growing impatient. He took the door handle and twisted it.

  “Locked,” he said. “Empty. And it’s still raining, and I’m tired.”

  Jackbones rapped his staff on the door. Three knocks. Evenly spaced. The handle grew warm. It turned again in Tadpole’s hand, moving of its own purpose.

  “In,” said Jackbones. “Quickly. Come on.”

  He pushed Tadpole’s back. The door opened and he stumbled in. Jackbones slammed it, quickly, silently, the wood making no noise as it struck the frame.

  The fire was stoked up and burning well. The lamps gave a warm and welcoming glow. A man was curled up on a bed, his back to them. From an armchair near the fire, December looked up and tried to smile. She raised her hand to Tadpole. Her face and neck were uncovered. The shawl was over her knees. Her smile, through the wasted lips, was a mixed miracle of pleasure and pain.

  “You found me,” she said.

  Tadpole strained to hear the soft words.

  Jackbones touched her shoulder as he passed and went and sat on the edge of the bed.

  “He’s not dead,” said December.

  “No. But he’s as close as you can get to it,” said Jackbones.

  “I’m sorry I can’t offer you any food,” said December. “I’m very tired.”

  Tadpole didn’t know what to do. He had never seen grown-ups helpless before.

  “I don’t mind,” he said. “I’m not hungry.”

  December managed a smile. “Not hungry?”

  “Well. A little.”

  “If you can find food, you’re welcome. Perhaps if I…”

  She tried to stand. Jackbones, looking over his shoulder, clicked his fingers and she slumped back into the chair. Tadpole ran over to her and took her in his arms. Her destroyed skin seemed to him now more like the pages of an old book, or the dry surface of a warm garden, not ugly, but having a character all of its own.

  “Leave her,” said Jackbones. “Let her sleep.”

  He turned the man in the bed and Tadpole saw Waterburn’s face.

  “Cabbage,” whispered Jackbones. “What have you done to yourself, lad?”

  He was no more a lad than December was a girl. His face was contorted into a grimace of fear. His hair had half-gone, burned off or ripped out on the left side of his head. His eyes were open, staring, not seeing.

  Jackbones cradled him.

  “Is he really alive?”

  “In a way.”

  “Can you make him better?”

  Tadpole wanted to sit down. It seemed disrespectful, so he stood, his legs tired, his damp clothes clinging to him. The heat from the fire made them smell.

  “I can keep him alive, I think. Perhaps even strong enough to walk. Whether his mind will return, or whether he’ll ever make magic again, I don’t know.”

  Jackbones laid Cabbage back on the bed, straightened his arms and put a pillow under his head. He stood, shrugged off his cloak and banged the tip of his staff on the floor.

  The whole room rang out with a booming shudder.

  “People will hear,” said Tadpole.

  “No. December sealed the room. No sound. No light. No smoke escapes. Stand back, now.”

  He took a burning coal from the fire with his hands.

  “Careful,” said Tadpole, forgetting about magic.

  “Right back,” said Jackbones. “Over there.”

  Tadpole stood by the door. Breeze stroked his cheek through the door jamb.

  Jackbones stood before December, the burning coal in his hand. Tadpole looked on in disbelief.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Jackbones.

  “You don’t know?”

  “I know. I’m not sure if I should do it.”

  “Then don’t,” said Tadpole. “Put the fire back.”

  Jackbones paused, moved to return the coal to the fire, and, at the last moment, dropped it into December’s lap and stepped away.

  December flared up like a blazing torch. The flames embraced the ceiling and splashed patterns over the walls. Tadpole pressed himself against the door and drew his arm over his face to shield him from the heat. Peeking over his arm he saw Jackbones, standing firm in front of December. The flames spilled over him and he withstood them, as a sailor faces down the sea spray.

  Tadpole screamed at him to stop, to put it out. Jackbones watched her burn. He moved away, ignoring Tadpole, and stood over Waterburn. Tadpole couldn’t move. There was no water, nothing to put out the fire. The heat kept him pinned to the door. He thought his own clothes might catch light any moment. He put his hand to his head, to check if his hair was burning.

  Jackbones leaned over Waterburn, putting his hand to the wizard’s forehead.

  “I don’t know,” he muttered. “I don’t know.”

  The door shook. Tadpole was caught between the blaze and the danger of an intruder.

  “Jackbones,” he shouted, over the roar of the fire. “Jackbones.”

  “Shh. Not now.”

  The door shook again, and something hard rapped at it.

  “You have to listen.”

  Tadpole could hear the harsh, metallic rattle of the kravvins. In his mind’s eye he saw their blank faces. He could hear their brittle chanting. Kill. Eat. Kill.

  Jackbones waved his request away.

  The door shook and the handle turned.

  “The spell’s broken,” he shouted. “The door’s opening.”

  There was nowhere for Tadpole to go. Fire in front of him and attackers from behind.

  The door pushed him aside and he stumbled to his knees.

  Tadpole fell to the floor. His cloak covered his head. His roffle pack banged on his back. He hurt his wrist, putting his hands out to break his fall.

  The door slammed behind him. They were in the house. And he was helpless. His only hope was that the cloak stopped them seeing him and he could crawl away. Perhaps go for help. But could he leave Jackbones alone to fight them?

  He kept perfectly still, hoping they couldn’t see him.

  “You don’t think that cloak makes you invisible, do you?”

  He knew the voice. It hurt to move. His knees were banged. His wrist sent stabs of pain when he steadied himself with his hand.

  “Come on. Up you come.”

  A strong hand lifted him to his feet. The cloak was tangled over his head. He swept it aside.

  “That’s better. Are you all right?”

  Smith stood like a tree, looking down at him. He was wet from the rain. His sleeves were rolled up and he held a short, heavy hammer in his left hand.

  “Took some getting that door open,” he said. “Good spell,” he called across to Jackbones.

  “Not mine. December made it.”

  Tadpole looked at the armchair. The blaze had
given way to a steady fire. The flames didn’t reach the ceiling now. December was a candlewick, glowing in a raindrop of fire, but not consumed. Sometimes it seemed as though her skin was smooth and healed. Then the flame flickered and it was puckered and stretched and scarred.

  Smith stepped over to her. As he moved away, Tadpole could see that Tamrin had been hidden behind him. Something made him pleased to see her.

  “You’re alive,” he said. The pleasure rushed to his face, and, despite the terrible sight of December burning and Cabbage lying stricken, he found he was smiling a broad smile of joy.

  “Of course I am,” she said. “What did you think? Did you think Smedge could kill me? Even for a roffle you don’t know much, do you?”

  Tadpole looked away. He felt that Tamrin was still glaring at him. It was impossible to look at her now. Smith put his hand into the flames sweeping round December. He touched her cheek.

  “She’s cool,” he said.

  Jackbones sighed and almost smiled. Tadpole understood that the wizard had been waiting for some sign that he had done the right thing.

  “Let the flames die down completely,” said Jackbones. “It’s the only way.”

  “What about Cabbage?”

  “I can’t think. I don’t know what to try.”

  Smith joined him and they looked down on Cabbage together. Tamrin went to December and sat on the floor next to her. She slipped her hand into the woman’s.

  Tadpole just wanted to walk out and close the door behind him, find the nearest roffle hole and go home. He didn’t belong here. They all knew what to do, and he didn’t. He tried to pretend that he wasn’t there.

  “You found us,” said Jackbones.

  “No,” said Smith. “We weren’t looking for you. We came for December. And for the mines. And we hoped that Cabbage would be here as well. Tamrin came to me after the fight.”

  “She’s all right?” asked Jackbones.

  “I’m here,” said Tamrin. “You can ask me.”

  “I can see that you’re here,” said Jackbones, “but I didn’t think you wanted to answer questions. Not after the way you spoke to my friend.”

  “What friend?”

  Jackbones didn’t bother to answer her.

  “Tamrin was shaken badly,” said Smith. “But not hurt. Not too much.”

  “What about Sam? Did she say what happened to him?”

  “I’m here,” Tamrin said again. “I’m here. All right? And I was there. I saw it. If you want to know, you can ask me.”

  Jackbones spoke softly. “Tam, we know you’re upset.”

  “I’m not upset. I’m angry.”

  “We know you’re upset, but that’s no reason—”

  “I’m. Not. Upset. Understand?” Her face was red and she gripped December’s hand. “I’m angry. That’s all.”

  “Stop shouting. Please.”

  “Then stop saying I’m upset. And stop staring at me. And you, roffle — what are you looking at?”

  Tadpole looked away again. He couldn’t meet her eyes. Smith nodded to him and half-smiled. Jackbones spoke to Tamrin again.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “Why don’t you come and help us?”

  Tadpole thought that something had happened to her. At first, there was no answer. After that, a noise, like a chicken having its neck pulled. He looked at her. Her face was lost in tears. She moved her lips but no words came.

  “Look after her, Tadpole, will you? We’re busy,” said Jackbones.

  “What? Me?”

  “Go on.”

  Smith and Jackbones leaned over Cabbage again.

  Tadpole moved towards her.

  “Go away,” she said.

  He stopped and waited. She put her hands to cover her face.

  Tadpole sat on the other side of December, on the floor, so that he was the same height as Tamrin. The flames had gone from December’s body, and only the last few crowned her head.

  “I’ve been frightened ever since I arrived,” he said. “I was most frightened when the kravvins were attacking.”

  Tamrin kept her face covered, her head half-turned.

  “I wanted to fight. I wanted to help. I was too frightened to do anything. I was so glad when you pushed me out through the door. And I was grateful and relieved at the same time. And ashamed. Ashamed to leave you.”

  “It’s all right.” Her voice was muffled. “You had to get out.”

  “And now Waterburn’s dying. Cabbage. And I like him more than anyone. He was kindest to me.”

  December’s hand moved and touched his head. She stroked him. He looked up. Her face was as ever. Her lips smiled. Her eyes were bright again, and her touch was strong. The flames had all gone.

  “He was always kind,” she said. “Always.” She looked down at Tamrin. “And you, Tam, you were kind, too, before the trouble at the college.”

  “Well,” said Tamrin. “Kind doesn’t get you anywhere.”

  December stroked Tamrin’s cheek. She sat up in the chair. “It was kind of you to come and help me.”

  “We need you to fight with us.”

  December looked across at Cabbage.

  “You two,” she said. “Leave him alone.”

  “He’ll die if we don’t help him.”

  “He’ll die if you do. Come away. Let these two try.”

  Jackbones kept his back to her. “He was my apprentice. I taught him. I gave him an example. If he dies now, it’s my fault.”

  “He’s not been an apprentice these long years,” she said. “Come away. That time’s past. Your time’s past. It’s time for these two. Stand aside and let them near.”

  Jackbones stood and put his hands to his back, stretched his shoulders and moaned. “Aches and pains. Leaning over’s no good.”

  “Then stand up and move away.”

  Jackbones did as he was told, and Smith joined him.

  “You’re a nuisance again, now you’re better,” he said. “I should have left you.”

  “To die?” Her voice was pleasant in its mockery.

  “You don’t know how sweet that sounds,” said Jackbones.

  December stood and steadied herself. She put her arms around the librarian. “Perhaps you’ll get your wish,” she said. “Soon.”

  Tamrin was already at Cabbage’s bedside. She motioned for Tadpole to join her.

  “What did you like best about him?” she said. “Think.”

  “He was kind to me.”

  “What else?”

  Tadpole thought. The rain danced on the window.

  “He made stars for me,” he said.

  “Right. That’ll do.”

  Tamrin put her hands on Cabbage’s cheeks. She bent over him and blew on his closed eyes.

  “Vengeabil,” she said. “Old storeman. Vengeabil. There’s a roffle here who wants stars.”

  She blew again. A small star came from her lips and hovered over Cabbage’s face.

  “It’s all I have,” she said. “I’m tired. I was hurt.”

  The star flickered. It looked tired, too.

  “Come on,” she whispered. “Let’s have stars.”

  Tadpole saw a movement, under Cabbage’s head. The corner of the pillow lifted and the old cat peered out. Eyes, whiskers, a nose. It pushed forward. The ears followed. Its eyes were fixed on the star. It wriggled free and came and sat on Cabbage’s chest. The star hovered. The cat leaped and licked it up. It landed back on Cabbage as light as mist. It looked at him, waiting.

  “Come on,” whispered Tamrin. “Come on, Vengeabil.”

  The cat lifted a paw and patted Cabbage’s face. He made no response; his breathing was shallow and fast.

  “There’s a roffle here, wants to see you,” said Tamrin.

  The cat put out its tongue and licked Cabbage’s cheek.

  “Nothing,” said Tamrin. “It’s no good. I’ve tried. Sorry.”

  The cat moved away and pushed its face under the pillow. Tamrin started to stand up.

 
“Wait,” said Tadpole. “Look.”

  A star fell on the cat’s tail. It twisted its head back and saw it.

  “See,” said Tadpole. “A star.”

  The cat whirled round, chasing its tail. The star clung to it.

  “Careful,” said Tamrin.

  Another star. And another. They fell softly from above the cat, sprinkling it with light. The cat jumped and caught them, darted and pawed them, licked them up from the bedspread, from its fur, from Cabbage’s cheeks.

  “Yes,” shouted Tamrin. She wrapped her arms around Cabbage’s neck and hugged him.

  “You’ll strangle him,” December warned her.

  Tamrin let him go and she hugged Tadpole instead. He put out a hand to push her away, thought better of it and hugged her back.

  December slipped past them and sat by Cabbage. She stroked his cheek and murmured to him. Tadpole couldn’t catch what she was saying. It was half-speech, half-song.

  The cat finished the stars and, without warning, dissolved away.

  “Is he all right now?” asked Tamrin. “He must be. He made the stars again.”

  “Not quite,” said December. “But better. Much better. You did a good job. Now eat. There’ll be food if you look.”

  Tamrin was suddenly sick-looking. Her excitement died. Her face was grey. Her hands shook. Tadpole tried to touch her shoulder. She moved away, with an apologetic shrug.

  “It’s costly, magic,” said December. “She’ll be all right soon. Give her time.”

  “Help me with this, lad,” said Smith. He had found eggs and butter, bread and fruit. “You cut the bread. Can you do that?”

  Tadpole gave a clear and rather impertinent signal that cutting bread was no problem for a roffle, and Smith tossed a chuck of butter into a pan he had put on the range. It hit the metal and sizzled. Smith broke eggs into a bowl, whisked them with a fork and poured them into the pan.

  Soon, they were sitting down to bread and butter with scrambled eggs. December had lifted Cabbage, and he lay on the bed, supported by her, and taking a little of the eggs and trying to speak.

  “Not yet,” she said. “You were hurt most of all. You’ll take a little longer.”

  “Tomorrow,” he managed to say.

  “Maybe tomorrow. We’ll see.”

  Tadpole found a space between mouthfuls to speak to Jackbones. “You’re not eating,” he said.

  The man played with some eggs on the end of his fork. He raised it to his lips, paused and lowered it again.