Starborn Page 27

  “Come with me. We’re old friends now. Aren’t we? You and I? We survived the dungeon and the walls, the beetles and Smedge. We got through it. Come with me.”

  “Where are you going?” asked Mattie. “What are you going to do?”

  Khazib turned Mattie to face him and laughed. “I don’t know,” he said. “I have no idea. But look. Look at you. A boy again. And me. Back from the lip of death. And look up there. Not the slimy ceiling of a dungeon. Look at the sky. And there.” He grabbed Mattie’s shoulders and span him round. “Trees and grass, and roads, and rivers. There’ll be villages and towns. We might even go as far as the end of the land. I’ve never seen the sea. Come with me.”

  Mattie looked at the others.

  “Go,” said December.

  “Go,” said Sam.

  They made their farewells.

  “You whipped me, once,” said Sam.

  Khazib looked abashed. “Only a little chastisement, to make you work harder,” he said. “Am I forgiven?”

  Sam paused and thought about it.

  “Are you sorry?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Then you’re forgiven.”

  They embraced and laughed.

  But when Mattie and Khazib had gone away in one direction and December had gone in the other, his laughter had fled with them.

  “Four of us left,” said Cabbage, who was trying to recover from a difficult farewell to December. They had cried and promised to see each other again soon. “What’s next for us?”

  “Back to Canterstock for me,” said Jackbones. “There’s nowhere else.”

  Cabbage agreed to go with him.

  “What about you two?” he asked.

  Sam began to answer. “Back to Flaxfield’s, first,” he said, when Tadpole interrupted him.

  “Look at that,” he said.

  A sliver of blue and green approached them, high in the sky. It flew with the speed of sparks from struck steel.

  “Starback,” said Sam. He hugged himself with joy. “Starback.”

  The dragon swooped down and made a smoky draught of air flutter their cloaks. He rose up and circled overhead. Then, there were two of them, two dragons, chasing each other in a jubilant circle. Starback and Starborn.

  “Come down,” shouted Sam. “Come down.”

  “Do dragons come when you call them?” asked Tadpole.

  “No,” said Sam. “Of course not.”

  Starback broke free of the circle and flew away. Turned, flew back, turned again. Three times, before Cabbage said, “I think you’re supposed to follow him, Sam.”

  “All right.”

  “And he’s going that way, at present,” said Jackbones. “Let’s go. I’ve had enough of Boolat.”

  They strode off.

  Boolat, its broken stones and torn turrets, sank back into silence and waited for the grass and trees to cover it.

  Sam took one last look back at the lone willow, but it had gone.

  “That’s good,” he whispered. “Boolat was never the place for you.”

  “Come on,” called Tadpole. “We need you.”

  It took several days

  to get to Canterstock. Tamrin didn’t hurry.

  “What’s the point?” she asked. “What will be different when I get there? I’ll still be a wizard without magic. And what’s that? It’s not a thing at all. It’s a river without water. A forge without fire.”

  She hit her staff against an innocent beech tree. “Shut up,” she said. “Shut up. Talking to yourself. Like some loblolly.”

  So she was silent for a while and then began her mumbling again.

  She didn’t eat. She drank from clear streams. She chewed the end of a sweet stalk of grass to freshen her mouth. But she didn’t want food.

  She wasn’t alone. She could tell that Tim thought she had not seen him. Sometimes he was ahead of her. Sometimes to one side. He kept in the shadow. He skirted round and tried to stay hidden. But she saw him almost as soon as she left Boolat.

  Let him think he was fooling her. She didn’t care. Didn’t care what he did.

  She kept a careful look out for kravvins. Just in case. She didn’t know how far from Boolat they would wander.

  She hadn’t seen them transformed into ordinary, harmless beetles.

  So she slept little, always alert for attack.

  By the time the walls of Canterstock appeared, with the tower of the college rising over them, she was tired, hungry and bad-tempered.

  She left the road, found a sweet meadow and sat, her chin on her hands, and stared at the town.

  It looked wrong. Something about the way the sun hit the stone of the college made it seem softer, kinder.

  She forgot herself for a moment and clicked a clear-sight spell, to help her to see better, further.

  Nothing happened.

  She grumbled out loud. “I suppose I’ll have to walk there if I want to see.”

  Drawing close to the gate, she saw Tim slip in, ahead of her.

  There were no guards. Tamrin kept her wits about her, ready for a trap. The narrow street to the main square was clean and swept. A flower shop spilled blooms into the street. Blue and green and red. The fresh, sweet aroma delighted Tamrin as she passed.

  And the square itself.

  People smiled at her. They stepped aside to let her pass, and called out hellos and greetings.

  Tamrin ignored them and crossed towards the college. She stopped in the centre of the square and stared long and hard at it. Golden stone drank in the early-afternoon sun. Slender turrets and graceful arched windows. The glass gleamed.

  “Going in?”

  “What?” said Tamrin.

  A friendly face smiled down at her. A woman with a basket full of fresh bread, apples, a cabbage and a pack of sausages.

  “Are you going in?” she said. “You look as though you belong there.”

  “Oh,” said Tamrin. “Yes. Yes. I’m going in.”

  The woman smiled again and went on her way.

  The gate was open. Tamrin dodged past the porter’s lodge, but there was no need. It was empty. She relaxed and checked if there was anything to see there. Letters stuck out of the pigeon holes, uncollected, unread.

  She left them and made her way into the lower corridor.

  There was no stink.

  The globes had risen and they bounced against the high ceiling, glowing with a clear, white light. The ceiling, she saw clearly for the first time, was blue, alive with bright stars.

  Tamrin stopped and stared around, not knowing what to do, where to go first.

  She hesitated at the stairs down to the basement and Cabbage’s storeroom. Not there. Not yet.

  A small boy appeared at the corner of the corridor. He stopped, stared at her, ran up and grinned.

  “It’s all gone,” he said. He bounced with joy. “Horrid magic. All gone. I’m going home.”

  “You do that,” said Tamrin. “Where are the others?”

  “They’ve gone. All of them.”

  He gave her a wink and ran off. Turning to look over his shoulder, he shouted, “You can go as well, if you like.”

  Tamrin waved him goodbye.

  She drew in a deep breath and made her way up the winding stair.

  “Not quite all gone,” she said.

  The library door was open. Dr Duddle came through, backwards, dragging a box of books. He was red and hot. Dribbles of sweat ran down his fat face and into the folds of his neck.

  He pulled the box clear of the door and made ready to go back in. He took out a handkerchief to mop his face first and saw her watching him.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “What are you doing with those books?”

  “Is Smedge with you? Where is he? I need some help.”

  Tamrin pushed past him and went into the library.

  “What are you doing?” she said.

  “Getting rid of these old books,” said Duddle. “They’re u
seless. Help me to find another box and fill it.”

  Tamrin folded her arms and looked up at the endless galleries overhead.

  “All of them?” she said.

  “All of them, of course.”

  He didn’t seem to hear the murmur from the galleries. Tamrin struggled to work out what it signified. Laughter? Anger? Distress?

  “What will you do then?” she asked.

  Duddle’s face became blank, then sly.

  “Does it matter?” he asked. “As long as we clear away all the old stuff, we can work out what to do next.”

  Tamrin listened to the galleries. She waited, alert, concentrating.

  Duddle left her and tried the door to the librarian’s room. It was locked.

  “Can you open this?” he asked.

  “Why are you getting rid of them?” said Tamrin.

  Duddle gave her another sly look.

  “It’s because he’s no good at it,” said Sam.

  Sam was still talking

  about how different it all was as they climbed the stairs and approached Frastfil’s study.

  “But it’s exactly as the guide book describes it,” said Tadpole. He twisted round and pulled the book out of his roffle pack to show them.

  “The book’s right,” said Cabbage. “It’s how the college was, before Slowin and Frastfil. I thought I’d never see it like this again.”

  “But it’s empty,” said Sam.

  “No use for a college for wizards, when there’s no magic,” said Cabbage.

  “Here we are,” said Jackbones. He kicked the door open. Sam marvelled at how robust the old librarian had become since the fall of Boolat.

  Frastfil jumped up from behind his desk. His face was a diagram of fear. He raised his hands as if to protect himself. Seeing who it was, he lowered them and glared.

  “You should knock,” he said. “Don’t you know that?”

  Jackbones led them in and pushed Frastfil away from the desk.

  “You don’t belong there,” he said. “You were never fit to be principal of this place.”

  Frastfil tried to force his way back. Jackbones pushed him, not even hard, and the man cringed and slid to the open window, half-turned away from them.

  Sam couldn’t decide whether he wanted to put out his hand to comfort him or tip him out of the room altogether. In the end, he did nothing and just watched.

  “Did you make this mess?” said Frastfil. “Look at it. My study. Ruined. I don’t know where anything is any more.”

  Sam inspected the room. The desk was tidy. The bookshelves were neatly ordered. The rug was clean and fresh. The rows of jars and small pots, candle holders and little, curious objects that wizards collect were arranged with care. Only one thing remained of Frastfil’s filthy study: the armchair that his great-great-something-ancestor had once owned. It squatted, torn and squalid, to the side of the desk.

  “And it stinks,” said Frastfil. “I can hardly breathe in here.”

  A vase of stocks sat on a small, oak table. Fresh freesias in a blue and white jug on the corner of the desk breathed out the gentle scent of summer.

  “Did you?” said Frastfil. He jingled the loose change in his pocket. “Did you make this mess? I should never have let you into the college. I knew you would be trouble.”

  “Do some magic,” said Jackbones. “Go on. Make it how you like it again.”

  Frastfil looked back at him. Hesitated. Shook his head and looked out of the window.

  “No magic?” said Jackbones. “Eh? What’s that? Speak up.”

  “All gone,” said Frastfil.

  Jackbones looked at Tadpole.

  “Show him some magic, boy,” he said.

  Sam felt a stab of regret and anger at Tadpole. He smothered it almost before it could hurt him.

  Tadpole looked confused. He shook his head.

  “A roffle?” said Frastfil. “A roffle? Do magic?” He gave an unpleasant laugh, reminding Sam of the real man behind the cheerful smile.

  Tadpole rapped his staff on the floor. The armchair became a thick, yellow fog, filled with maggots and slugs.

  “Stop!” shouted Frastfil. “Stop. That’s my armchair. That was owned by a great wizard, my great-great-great—”

  Tadpole rapped the staff again and Frastfil fell into the armchair. The wet creatures covered him, his hands, arms, face.

  “I can’t breathe,” Frastfil gasped. His face turned purple and his tongue stuck out.

  “No,” said Sam, horrified at the sudden power and violence. “That’s not what magic’s for. Stop it.”

  “It’s all right,” said Tadpole. “Watch.”

  Frastfil struggled to get out of the chair. His legs waved like an upturned cockroach. His arms flailed. He choked for help.

  The fog melted away. The chair emerged. One leg collapsed. The stuffing disintegrated. The frame split and fell apart, leaving Frastfil sprawled in the wreckage. Tadpole rapped the staff again. Frastfil, unharmed, lay in the debris.

  “I didn’t hurt him,” said Tadpole.

  “Should have killed him,” said Jackbones. “Get your knife and finish him off.”

  “No,” said Frastfil. He smiled up at Tadpole. “Good chap. You can stay on here as a student. I’ll teach you myself.”

  Jackbones made the most unpleasant sound that Sam had ever heard. “He still thinks he’s worth something,” he said. “He hasn’t learned a thing.”

  “No,” Cabbage agreed. “Not a thing. But I don’t think he can. He’s one of those who’s been taught to think so well of himself that he can’t stop, even when it all goes wrong, and it’s his fault.”

  Frastfil hauled himself to his feet, change jingling, smile broad as ever. “We’ll make the college great again,” he said to Tadpole. “Build it up. You’ll see.”

  Jackbones shrugged his shoulders. “You really should kill him,” he said to Tadpole. “Just one little spell.”

  “Jackbones,” said Sam.

  Jackbones nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “It would make us as bad as he is. What shall we do with him, Sam?”

  “Kick him out,” said Sam.

  “Just kick him out?”

  “Why not? He’s not worth anything else.”

  Cabbage sighed. “All that harm he did. All that damage to Canterstock College. All the people whose lives have been lost and ruined by him. It seems too little, just to kick him out.”

  “Tadpole?” asked Sam. “What do you think?”

  “New start,” said Tadpole. “Better not begin with a killing. Kick him out.”

  “Off you go,” said Sam.

  And, to his surprise, Frastfil didn’t argue. He even looked relieved to be off. With a beaming smile and a last jingle of change in his trouser pocket, he left.

  Tadpole rapped his staff on the floor. A wind seized the debris of the armchair and swept it out of the window. The room was clean and ready for someone new.

  “I’m going back to my library,” said Jackbones. He shrank again, the confrontation over. Sam could see through him for a moment.

  “I’ll come with you,” said Cabbage. “Then I’ll go and check on my storeroom.”

  “You can’t stay here.” said Sam. “It’s empty. What will you do?”

  “We’ll see,” said Cabbage. “You never know.”

  The bright corridors and brilliant globes delighted Sam all over again on their way to the library.

  “And the stars,” said Tadpole. “On the ceilings. Are they made up?”

  Sam checked them. “No. They’re the real patterns in the sky.”

  “And they have names? The patterns?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you teach me?”

  “Perhaps. They may need new names, now. New patterns. We’ll talk about it.”

  “What’s that noise?” said Cabbage. “Voices?”

  “In my library?” said Jackbones. “My library? Who would dare go in there?”

  “Let’s see,” said Tadpole.
>
  They held Jackbones back and listened outside the door.

  “Duddle,” said Cabbage. “I’ll see to him.”

  “And Tamrin,” said Sam. “I knew we’d find her.” He grinned at Tadpole.

  They listened a while, and Cabbage pointed to the box of books that Duddle had dragged out.

  “Come on,” whispered Sam, and led them in.

  Duddle was by the librarian’s door.

  “Why are you getting rid of them?” said Tamrin.

  Duddle gave her another sly look.

  “It’s because he’s no good at it,” said Sam.

  Duddle spluttered a reply. Tamrin frowned at Sam, then, with a shrug, smiled and crossed over to him so that the two of them faced Duddle together. When they spoke, it was as though they were one again.

  “He’s a bully.”

  “And no good at his job.”

  “Poor at magic.”

  “Useless at teaching.”

  “Envious of the past.”

  “Resentful of others.”

  “Ambitious without ability.”

  “A dead, dud loss.”

  There was silence.

  The silence of shock.

  The silence that follows the truth.

  Duddle tilted his head to one side. Thought for a moment. Looked at the others.

  “Ah, Jackbones,” he said. “Can you open that door for me, please? I want another box.”

  The galleries exploded. A shower of paper tumbled down on them. Paper willow leaves, slim and small. The whole space above their heads was filled with them, as the sky is filled with rain.

  Voices followed, whispering, urging, washing over them.

  “Jackbones. Jackbones. Jackbones.”

  The old librarian raised his arms. The storm of paper leaves thinned and stopped. The voices subsided. The air filled with the sweet silence of a library. The faces appeared around the rails above. Row upon row, rank upon rank. Waiting.

  Jackbones walked over to Duddle, took his elbow and led him to the door of the library.

  “You’re the last of the disease that rotted this place,” he said. “You have three minutes to leave the college. If you’re still here after that, I won’t need magic to deal with you. Understand?”

  “What shall I do?” said Duddle. “I’ve nowhere to go.”

  Jackbones turned Duddle till he faced the door, drew back his foot and kicked him on the behind. The chubby doctor lurched forward, found his balance and ran.