Jinx's Magic Read online

  He went far enough that he couldn’t see her feelings anymore, and then he leaned against the cold stone wall and thought.

  He had seen nothing at all that suggested there was a way to escape from this prison. You might as well try to escape from the solid-stone dungeon under Bonesocket. He didn’t dare tell Sophie how worried he was about Simon; he needed her brain to come up with an escape plan. If he told her Simon had gone off to look for the Bonemaster ages ago and not been heard from since, she’d go all gray and half-dead and useless.

  He went back. Sophie was still poring over the letter. She was glowing brightly now, a sort of happy silver sunshine.

  “You’re not done yet?”

  She folded the letter and smiled. “I was rereading. Goodness, Jinx, you’ve grown. What have you been doing? And why are you a scholar?”

  Jinx told her, as quickly and quietly as he could, what he’d done since he’d seen her last. It was pleasant to be speaking Urwish to someone, and not to have to worry about them finding out who he really was.

  “You fell off a cliff onto rocks? How were you not killed?”

  “I was! But Simon had my life in a bottle and he put it back.”

  A blue-brown puff of worry at that. Sophie didn’t like magic. Jinx went on, though, and told her about his trip to Keyland, and his quarrel with Reven and Elfwyn—

  “Wait—you turned a man into a tree?”

  “It was an accident,” said Jinx.

  “This Reven, your friend—”

  “Enemy.”

  “Some people would say Reven has a point,” said Sophie. “About the monsters, and the poverty—”

  “He doesn’t.”

  “I’m not saying he does,” said Sophie. “But it’s one point of view. You know, he doesn’t sound like he’d be a bad king.”

  “He can be a good king all he wants as long as he stays out of the Urwald,” said Jinx. “You know what he wants? He wants to turn us into more Keyland.”

  He went on to tell her about his adventures, skimming over the fact that Simon had gone to hunt the Bonemaster. He left out the destruction of Cold Oats Clearing, too. It would only upset her, and she might guess where Simon had gone. But he did tell her about Malthus.

  “I’ve never heard of werewolves talking or wearing spectacles.” Sophie frowned. “That doesn’t mean it’s not possible, of course.”

  “He told me to think about balance.”

  “And have you?” said Sophie.

  “No, I’ve been busy with other stuff. What about elves?” said Jinx. “I think I talked to elves too. Only they kind of put a spell on me and I don’t really remember much.”

  “Elves are dangerous. You shouldn’t be talking to elves. And—”

  “Do you know anything about Listeners?” Jinx asked.

  “Only that they’re supposed to have roots deeper than the Urwald. But I’m not sure if that’s meant figuratively. And there haven’t been any in a hundred years.”

  “But I’m one,” said Jinx.

  “Really?” No surprise at all from Sophie. “I told Simon you might be. I’ve tried to research Listeners here—”

  “There’s nothing,” said Jinx.

  “There’s very little. And of course my colleagues wouldn’t find my sources reliable.”

  “The werewolf told me I had to find out about Listeners. Oh, and the trees showed me this kind of vision of a girl who was the last Listener,” said Jinx. “What happened a hundred years ago? That’s when the doors to Samara were shut, too—the Bonemaster said.”

  “I don’t see how there could be a connection,” said Sophie. “But there were incidents. Crimes. There was a gang of young scholars misusing magic and trafficking in monsters. I’m surmising this. Nothing’s been written. All the portals were shut—”

  “You mean like the door to Simon’s house?”

  “That’s the only one left. That nice old wizard who used to live there—”

  “Egbert the Onion?”

  “Even when he thought he was an onion, he was a very kind onion,” said Sophie. “I think years ago, before he got sick, he must have figured out how to unlock the portal. These friends that helped you get in here—you shouldn’t trust them, Jinx.”

  Jinx shifted uncomfortably. Maybe he had been wrong to trust Satya. But without her acting lessons he’d never have made it past the guards. “They’re okay. Wendell’s great. And anyway I can—” Jinx stopped himself. He wanted to tell Sophie that he could see what they were feeling. But that wasn’t the sort of thing people liked to know.

  “Jinx, you can’t trust anyone from the Temple.”

  “You’re someone from the Temple,” said Jinx. “And I can trust Wendell.”

  “And tricking your way into the prison by pretending to be on an errand for the preceptors . . . that was a terribly dangerous thing to do, Jinx.”

  “So let’s not waste it,” said Jinx. “Let’s figure out what we’re going to do to get you out of here.”

  “Yes. There’s—no,” said Sophie.

  “No what?” said Jinx, frustrated.

  “It’s too dangerous, and it wouldn’t be right.”

  “Okay, fine, forget it then,” said Jinx. “What?”

  “KnIP,” said Sophie.

  “But you don’t know any KnIP,” said Jinx.

  “Of course not. Magic is a terrible crime. But Simon knows KnIP, somewhat. He’s a user, and he’s done some creating, but he’s not a creator adept.”

  This was so much more than Jinx had ever heard about KnIP—and he was hearing it from Sophie, of all people, who made a point of knowing as little about magic as she possibly could—that he could only stare.

  “I don’t know if anyone but a creator adept could create a door,” said Sophie.

  “You mean, like, a door out of the prison?” said Jinx.

  “That would probably be much easier than a door into the Urwald,” said Sophie. “Because it wouldn’t require breaching a dimension.”

  “You sure know a lot about magic all of a sudden,” said Jinx.

  “In theory.”

  “So is there anybody who knows enough KnIP to make a door?”

  “It might have to be several doors. There are probably a lot of walls between here and outside. And it would have to be done quickly enough for us to get out before anyone knew what was happening.”

  “So where can I find out more about KnIP?” Jinx asked.

  The glowing sun told him the answer before she did.

  “From Simon.”

  Jinx took a deep breath and tried for as light a tone as possible. “Simon’s away right now.”

  Instantly a blue-brown pool of worry. “Away where?”

  “He wants to get some witches and wizards together to help keep the Bonemaster locked up.” Which was technically true.

  “Oh, well, we’ll wait for him to come back, then.”

  “I really don’t think we should,” said Jinx. “They might decide to have your trial any day, right? How does KnIP work, anyway?”

  “Knowledge is power,” said Sophie.

  “I know that,” said Jinx. “But how—”

  “That’s how it works. All magic requires power, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” said Jinx. “Oh! You mean . . .” He thought. “Okay, I know that’s how the door into Samara works. You know it’s there and so it opens for you.”

  “But a creator actually uses knowledge,” said Sophie. “As power. The same way an Urwald wizard uses—I don’t know, flames or chalk figures or dried leaves.”

  Or lifeforce. “So, like—how does that work? Using knowledge as power?”

  “Simon can tell you,” said Sophie.

  “Aren’t there books or something?”

  “Oh! Yes, I forgot.” She reeled off three Samaran titles, which all sounded like they were about something else. “They’re in the library, hidden among books about other things. They’re pretty abstruse, I’m afraid. Simon can tell you more.”


  She just wouldn’t stop mentioning Simon. It was starting to make Jinx feel like a liar.

  “If I read those books, will I be able to do KnIP?”

  “You’ll need Simon to help you,” said Sophie. “Don’t worry, Simon knows.”

  “But . . .” He hesitated, not sure how to put this. “What if Simon—well, what if he doesn’t come back in time? I might have to figure it out for myself.”

  “Couldn’t you go and get him?” said Sophie.

  “Sure,” said Jinx. “Yeah. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll go and get him.”

  He couldn’t really say anything else without her realizing something was wrong.

  “Oh, and Simon wants this book called the Eldritch Tome,” he added. “Do you know where it is?”

  “Not everything Simon wants is something he should have,” said Sophie.

  “He kind of really needs it.”

  “Does it have something to do with the Eldritch Depths?”

  “What are the Eldritch Depths?” Jinx remembered hearing the name somewhere.

  “Where the elves live,” said Sophie. “Or exist, rather. The legends say it’s part of the ice, half of the ancient balance, supposedly, in the Urwald. The other half is fire. It—”

  Footsteps sounded in the corridor. Jinx jumped to his feet and tried to look imperious as Seth’s huge form hove into view.

  “Jinx, about KnIP,” Sophie whispered hastily. “Remember that knowing is having confidence in the infinity of possibility. What isn’t true now may be true in the future. And don’t underestimate the preceptors. They may have let you—”

  She broke off as Seth arrived.

  “Boss wants you out,” said Seth.

  “I told you I would summon you when I was ready, fellow,” said Jinx.

  “Sorry. Visits limited to one hour.”

  “I shall report this to the preceptors,” said Jinx.

  A little pink nervous ripple from Seth at that, but he was more afraid of Felix than of the preceptors. “Sorry. I have to do what the boss says. Come along, please.”

  Jinx turned to Sophie. “I will certainly check the veracity of what you’ve told me, woman, and if I find any error, it will be the worse for you when I return.”

  He hoped she got the message: he would return. He gave her a haughty nod and preceded big Seth down the corridor.

  The first thing Jinx did when he got back to the Temple was find the books Sophie had mentioned. One was filed under Ancient History, one under Botany, and one under Physics. The books weren’t just abstruse. They were complete gibberish.

  Here was an example:

  What is known is a matter of time, and time is a matter of what is not yet known.

  What was that supposed to mean? Jinx shut the book in disgust. He’d read each of the three KnIP books twice, and he was getting nowhere with understanding them.

  And so finally, Jinx went back to Simon’s house.

  He’d been putting it off because he was so much hoping that Simon would be there, and so certain that he wouldn’t be, that he dreaded actually going into the house and finding it empty.

  It was after midnight when Jinx reached the blue-violet door to Simon’s house. He put out his hand to lift the latch. But the latch didn’t move.

  KnIP, he reminded himself. He knew the door would open.

  But it wouldn’t.

  He tried the door-opening spell he’d learned at the Bonemaster’s house. The door did not open.

  He worked his knife along the crack of the door by the lock. Nothing.

  He tried prying the door open. The knife blade broke.

  He kicked the door.

  Then he had a feeling, just for a second, of thoughts close by, and he spun around fast and was just in time to catch a glimpse of a dark form running away across the rooftops.

  Jinx didn’t know what to do. There was no visible lock, and no way to remove the latch or the hinges. And he was pretty sure, from the feel of things, that whoever had locked the door had done it with magic.

  He was trapped in Samara.

  If he couldn’t get back to the Urwald to find Simon, then Jinx had to learn KnIP, and fast.

  Back at the Temple, he tried desperately to create KnIP spells. He tried knowing things that weren’t true. But he . . . knew they weren’t true. So the spells didn’t work.

  He couldn’t risk going back to visit Sophie again to ask her for help—not when he was being followed. He couldn’t get into the Urwald to look for Simon. He told Wendell what he’d found in the KnIP books, but Wendell just frowned and looked concerned. He wasn’t much help with book-related stuff.

  Jinx sat in a tree in the yard of the Twisted Branch. People walked past, laughing and talking. They didn’t have Jinx’s worries. He had to rescue Sophie, find the Eldritch Tome, figure out what had happened to Simon, teach himself KnIP . . .

  Somehow Simon had managed to learn KnIP. Who had taught him? Egbert the Onion? If he’d just learned it from those stupid books, then he was a lot smarter than Jinx was.

  Jinx leaned his face against the tree trunk and felt the tree’s lifeforce pulsing through it. He thought about the Urwald. If only the prison was in the Urwald! He’d get Sophie out easily.

  He found himself telling the old tree about the Urwald.

  Then in the darkness he became aware of thousands of trees—millions of trees—a vast forest, stretching on forever. The roots drank from the Crocodile River, they dug deep into the rich, moist soil of the hill where the Temple stood—

  Really? There was a forest here? How long ago? Jinx asked.

  The tree was confused by the question—time was different for a tree. Time was a circle of seasons, even in Samara. Time was always now.

  But this particular now? Perhaps fifty thousand years ago.

  Jinx couldn’t even imagine that much time . . . time enough for a forest to become a desert. In the tree’s memory, he could sense the lifeforce the ancient forest had had . . . and now it was gone from the world.

  What if the Urwald’s lifeforce were lost from Jinx’s world? If Reven cut down all the trees? Then the place would become like Samara—hot, dry, and magicless.

  But no—Samara wasn’t magicless. It had KnIP.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” Wendell stood under the tree, looking up at him.

  “Thinking.” Jinx said a silent farewell to the tree, and jumped down.

  “About that KnIP stuff?”

  “Yeah. Well, actually . . .” Jinx looked around to make sure no one was within earshot. Then he told Wendell what the tree had shown him.

  “So wait a minute, you mean you taught a tree how to talk?”

  “No, it already knew how,” said Jinx.

  “Cool. Is that magic?”

  “No,” said Jinx. “It’s easy if you kind of listen and stuff.”

  “So all you Urwalders can talk to trees?”

  “No—”

  “Just magicians?”

  “Not really,” said Jinx. “I mean I’ve never met anyone else who could do it. But—”

  “So it’s a kind of magic that you invented,” said Wendell.

  “It’s not magic. Other people could do it if they tried.” But Jinx found himself wondering for the first time if Listening actually was a kind of magic.

  “Maybe if you asked the tree what Sophie meant, it’d tell you,” Wendell suggested.

  “Trees don’t think like that.”

  “But it was talking about time, right? Same as Sophie was. Well, it’s probably something I wouldn’t understand. Oh, hey, I got another guiding job.”

  He glowed blue happiness.

  “That’s nice,” said Jinx.

  “It was those same merchants I guided before—well, no, it’s different merchants, but those first merchants told these guys they should ask for me! Can you believe it?”

  “Yes,” said Jinx, amused.

  “So they came here looking for me,” said Wendell. “It’s only for a few days, starting a w
eek from Thursday.”

  “That’s great,” said Jinx. “Um, listen, is there a way to find out when Sophie’s trial is?”

  Wendell frowned. “They don’t announce that kind of thing. I mean not in advance. They sort of spring it on people.”

  “Oh.”

  “Makes it more terrifying, obviously. And then they get through it quick and do the boiling right after, in public. It’s very effective.”

  “I guess boiling would be,” said Jinx.

  “I mean effective at keeping people scared. The whole way they do it. But generally it kind of leaks out, a day or two ahead of time.”

  “Leaks . . . oh, you mean gossip?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Could you sort of listen for the gossip?” Like hooking into the Witchline.

  “Oh! Yes! I can do that.”

  Jinx sat in the library and stared at the stupid book.

  What is known is a matter of time, and time is a matter of what is not yet known.

  Gah! That was about as useful as what Sophie had said. What was it? “What isn’t true now may be true in the future.” And “Knowing is having confidence in the infinity of possibility.”

  And Wendell had said to ask the tree, which wasn’t useful, because “the future” didn’t mean the same thing to trees. . . .

  All right. What if you did think of time the way a tree did? Not from the dead-and-gone past to the unknowable future, but in a circle, ever present? Then you could know something was true in the future . . . no, you could know that something could be true in the future. . . .

  Jinx stared at the library table in front of him and, holding his breath, knew there was a hole in it.

  A small hole, the size of a cup, appeared in the table.

  That was it! He could know it because it was possible in the future! That was all there was to it.

  Only it turned out that wasn’t all there was to it. Because when Jinx tried to make a bigger hole, he couldn’t. He knew and knew and knew, but the hole got no bigger.

  He tried knowing there was another hole next to the first one. That worked. Then a third. And a fourth. Now there was a hole about eight inches wide, and shaped like a four-leafed clover.