Miss Ellicott's School for the Magically Minded Page 5

  “Maybe a button is a place where the wall can be breached,” said Anna. “Like treacherous Queen Haywith did?”

  “I bet there’s nothing you can actually see,” said Chantel. “I mean, it’s all just stone the whole way around, isn’t it?”

  “There are the guard towers. But it mostly just looks like wall,” said Bowser. “I walked all around it that time I ran away from home. They don’t let you out, you know? If you go to the gate, the guards stop you.”

  Chantel grabbed a brush and scrubbed vigorously. “Someone must know where the buttons are. If there are buttons.”

  “I suppose the patriarchs know,” said Bowser.

  “What about ‘Keep the vow that Haywith broke’?” said Anna. “What’s that mean? And what are the words that Haywith spoke?”

  “I don’t know,” said Chantel. “In history books, she doesn’t speak at all. The books just say things about her.”

  “The patriarchs might know the words,” said Bowser.

  “They wouldn’t tell us,” said Chantel irritably. The smell of the wall-scrubbing glop was really overpowering. It disturbed Japheth too; the snake had hidden his head inside the collar of her robe.

  “Anna! Chantel!” Holly ran into the room, trembling.

  Anna reached out to catch her, then stopped, apparently remembering she had evil-smelling muck all over her hands.

  “What’s the matter?” said Chantel.

  “Mrs.—” Holly swallowed a sob. “I just heard her talking. In the parlor. To a man. She was—” Holly burst into tears.

  Bowser looked uncomfortable. “Can’t you just tell us what the problem is?”

  Chantel knelt and tried to look into Holly’s eyes, but Holly had her face buried in Anna’s shoulder. “Tell us what happened, Holly.”

  Holly unburied her face. “I heard her. Mrs. Warthall. Bargaining. To sell us. To a factory. To make glue.”

  “If he wants us for glue,” said Chantel, “then he wants us to work at making glue. He doesn’t want to make glue out of us.”

  Holly was not mollified. “My sister worked in a factory and she burned all up into nothing!”

  “We have to go see the patriarchs now,” said Bowser. “Before Mrs. Warthall can—”

  “Right,” said Chantel. “Holly, stay close to Miss Flivvers. Tell the other girls. Don’t be alone anywhere where Mrs. Warthall can catch you. We’re going to go talk to the patriarchs and—and put a stop to this.”

  Holly brushed tears out of her eyes with her sleeve.

  “Go on,” said Anna. “Go tell them. We’ll be back very soon.”

  Holly hurried away.

  They quickly washed their hands and slipped out the kitchen door into the alley that sloped down the hill beside Fate’s Turning.

  Seven Buttons didn’t look unprotected. It was forty feet high, looming over Chantel and her friends as they hurried toward the Hall of Patriarchs. It was faced with polished marble, inside and—Chantel assumed—outside. It was unclimbable, unbreachable. Nobody could ever get out . . . er, in, Chantel corrected herself.

  It was also not her concern. She was here to strike a bargain with Sir Wolfgang.

  Trying to look more confident than she felt, she led Anna and Bowser up the steps. They passed through the deep shades of the tombs. In the gloom they could just make out the carvings of dead kings, lying with stone swords clutched across their chests. They passed the dank stairway to the catacombs, and went into the bright office of the bored clerk.

  Mr. Less smiled. “Here to see Sir Wolfgang again? He was furious last time. Ooh, he was mad. He told me if I ever let you in again he’d have my guts for garters.”

  “Oh dear,” said Anna. “We’re so sorry we—”

  “Could we at least send in a message?” asked Chantel.

  “All the patriarchs are meeting in council,” the clerk said. “A terribly official occasion. If I interrupted them, I’d never hear the end of it.”

  “Maybe we could come back another time,” said Chantel.

  “No need,” said the clerk. “Go right in. End of the hall.”

  “But—” said Anna.

  “He won’t really have my guts for garters,” said the clerk. “I’m the only one who understands the filing system.”

  “Oh,” said Chantel.

  It occurred to her that the clerk’s guts were not the only ones that could conceivably be had for garters.

  But the younger girls back at the school were depending on her. So she mustered her courage.

  They heard voices and followed the sound, down the columned hall, past Sir Wolfgang’s empty office. A carved wooden door stood open. Chantel and her friends looked into a high-ceilinged chamber, where nine velvet-clad men sat around a polished table. Chantel recognized some of them, from processions and ceremonies.

  The patriarchs’ talk died away, and they stared.

  “What is the meaning of this?” one of them asked. “Who dares to interrupt the patriarchs in council?”

  This was not a promising beginning.

  Chantel and Anna curtseyed. Bowser bowed. Japheth poked his head up thoughtfully and flicked his tongue, tasting the air.

  “Pardon us, sirs,” said Bowser. “We’ve come about the missing sorceresses.”

  “And what do you have to do with sorceresses, eh, boy?” said the patriarch at the head of the table.

  He was tall and thick, with a mighty mane of hair and a beard like a hibernating badger. He had the most gold embroidery on his waistcoat and the thickest gold chain. Chantel had seen him at the annual ceremony celebrating the sealing of Seven Buttons, and at the yearly commemoration of the treachery of Queen Haywith, when all the patriarchs wore black. She thought his name was Lord Rudolph.

  “I’m the pot-boy at Miss Ellicott’s School,” Bowser explained. “And Miss Ellicott is missing.”

  “We know that, boy,” said Lord Rudolph. “Have you found her?”

  “No sir,” said Bowser. “But we’ve found—well, we think we’ve found something that might have to do with the Buttoning.”

  That got the patriarchs’ attention. They leaned forward eagerly.

  “You found the spell?” Lord Rudolph demanded. “You, a mere pot-boy?”

  Bowser didn’t seem to mind being called “mere,” but Chantel minded for him. Japheth gave an angry squirm.

  “No sir,” said Bowser. “The girls found it.”

  “Then why in the name of the Seven Buttons don’t the girls speak?” Lord Rudolph demanded.

  “Um,” said Bowser, taken aback. He turned to Chantel in distress.

  “We found something,” said Chantel firmly. “Not the whole spell, but a clue. But we want—” She took a deep breath and went on. “There’s something we want in return.”

  It seemed that Lord Rudolph, unlike Sir Wolfgang, actually could hear girls. “You found a clue? What’s your name, girl?”

  “Chantel. I . . . we . . . We’ve got a clue but we want to ask—”

  “Supposing you just hand that clue over,” said Lord Rudolph, “and run along and let the men worry about important matters.”

  Chantel swallowed. Her deportment made it very hard to keep going when she’d been told not to. “I don’t think we can do that, sir.”

  Lord Rudolph leaned back in his chair and turned a speculative, assessing gaze on Chantel. “Oh? Why not?”

  “Because we need you to do something for us,” said Chantel, amazed at her own temerity. “We need you to get rid of Mrs. Warthall. We’ll give you these words if you send her away, and let Miss Flivvers be in charge of the school, and . . . and . . .” She steeled herself. “And give Miss Flivvers money so we can buy real food.”

  There was an angry rustle of velvet around the table. Chairs were shoved back, muscles tensed as if the patriarchs were ready to spring. Japheth raised his head and switched it from side to side, tickling her ear.

  Chantel wished Japheth would turn huge and cobra-like, as he had before. That would be usefu
l right now. She had nothing to defend herself with except her deportment. Anna and Bowser weren’t much help. They were looking at her as the person in charge.

  Chantel took a deep breath. “And I think you need to tell us what happened to Miss Ellicott. And to the other sorceresses. If you know.”

  Angry cries and murmurs from around the table.

  Alone among the patriarchs, Lord Rudolph remained calm. “We’re aware of the situation, young Chantel.”

  To her utter horror, Chantel heard herself say, “So what are you doing about it?”

  “She dares!” cried one of the patriarchs.

  “She questions us!”

  “A mere girl!”

  All the patriarchs were on their feet now. Hands flew to sword hilts. Lord Rudolph made a gesture, and the men’s hands dropped to their sides.

  “What we are doing is no concern of yours, Chantel,” said Lord Rudolph. “All you need to know is that we have the matter well in hand—and indeed, you do not even need to be told that. You should assume it. The only thing you should be wondering is what you can do to help us. And the answer is you can hand over that clue, now, like a good girl.”

  He held out his hand.

  It was really difficult to believe you had a right to argue when you were confronted by wise-looking men telling you that you did not. Chantel looked at Anna and Bowser. They looked back, clearly waiting to see what Chantel would decide.

  Chantel took a deep breath. “If I hand over the words, then I would like to know that in return you’re going to take away Mrs. Warthall, who beats us and doesn’t let us learn anything and makes us eat cruel and—gruel and offal.”

  “You have no right to ask anything in return,” said Lord Rudolph.

  Fury rose up in Chantel. She and Anna had searched all night for the spell. They and the other girls had found it. She and Anna and Bowser had risked the wrath of Mrs. Warthall, which was no small thing, to come down here. And for all their trouble, they were being treated as if they had done something wrong.

  She could feel her face burning with anger. Her hands clenched. Her deportment was slipping away fast. Japheth reared up high on her shoulder, switching his head around furiously. He should have made himself ten feet tall. He should have grown a hood and fangs. He should have sprouted wings from his back and flown at the patriarchs, spouting flame.

  Instead, the snake did the most useless thing he could possibly have done.

  He crawled into Chantel’s ear.

  6

  WHICH IS, ON THE WHOLE, FIENDISH

  It was a horrible sensation. Chantel could feel the snake inside her head, squirming about. But she hardly had time to think about it, because immediately she heard herself shouting.

  “Well, that’s not the only thing I want!” she said. “I want to know what happened, because I think you know more than you’re telling us! And I want to know why sorceresses who can do magic have to listen to you, if you can’t do any! And I want to know what—”

  “Chantel, shut up,” said Bowser urgently, grabbing her arm.

  Chantel shrugged him off. “—what you’re doing to get them back!”

  “Fie!” cried one of the patriarchs.

  Even Lord Rudolph looked angry. “For your information, the sorceresses have been taken by the Marauders Without the Walls, who have offered to exchange them on condition that we tear down the wall.”

  “How did any Marauders get into the city to take them?” Chantel demanded.

  “She has no right to speak to us like that!” said a patriarch.

  Lord Rudolph waved him to silence. “We do not know,” he told Chantel. “We suspect a weakness in the walls. A breach of the buttons. That is why you must hand over your clue to us immediately.”

  “How would you even do the spell if you had it?” A part of Chantel was horrified at her behavior, but the snake in her head made it impossible to recover her deportment. “None of you is a sorceress.”

  “Some of us feel we may have some magical talent,” said Lord Rudolph. “The sorceresses have monopolized the field of magic for long enough. Now really, Chantel, I have been quite patient with your impertinent questions. Be a good girl and hand over the clue.”

  The snake wriggled against Chantel’s brain, interfering with thirteen years of careful training. “I am not a good girl,” she heard herself say. “Sorry.”

  “Chantel—” said Anna nervously.

  “In fact,” said Chantel. It was hard to think with a snake in her brain, but the pieces were falling into place. “If the Marauders want the wall taken down, or they won’t give the sorceresses back, and you want the spell, so that you can strengthen the wall . . . you don’t intend to get the sorceresses back, do you?”

  “Why are we even listening to this fool girl?” cried a patriarch. “She must obey!”

  “Seize them!” roared another. And Lord Rudolph said something in protest, but it wasn’t heard as the chairs were overturned and the patriarchs came charging around and over the table in an angry wave.

  Chantel, Anna, and Bowser fled.

  They ran down the hall, the patriarchs thundering after them. They dodged through the clerk’s office—Mr. Less jumped hastily aside—and out into the gloom of the Hall of the Dead, a dark maze of tombs.

  “Bar the door!” It was Sir Wolfgang’s voice, panting. “Don’t let them get out!”

  And Chantel saw the patriarchs moving through the darkness, running to block the exit.

  Chantel, Anna, and Bowser ducked down in the black shadow of the tomb of King Fustian the First, whose square face Chantel had described to Miss Ellicott. The patriarchs’ voices rang out as they called to each other, searching among the tombs in the darkness.

  In a story, Chantel thought wildly, we’d lie on top of the tombs and pretend to be statues, and in a story that would actually work.

  In real life it wouldn’t. Chantel could see two of the patriarchs moving closer. They were going around each tomb, kicking at the shadows with their heavy boots.

  Bowser twitched at Chantel’s sleeve and pointed with his nose. Staying low, the three of them slipped over to the next row of tombs.

  “I heard something!” called a patriarch. “All of you be still.”

  The patriarchs fell silent, and Chantel and her friends froze, not breathing. Chantel could hear blood pounding in her ears. (The snake had calmed down for the moment.)

  “Think they’re inside a tomb?” called one of the patriarchs.

  “No, we’d have heard them lift the lid.” It was Lord Rudolph’s voice. “We’ll find them. Circle around. Surround the tombs, then move in. Swords out, gentlemen.”

  Chantel heard the rasp of swords being unsheathed. Heavy footfalls echoed through the great stone hall as the patriarchs circled, closing in.

  She looked around frantically. In the gray gloom it was hard to see anything. A cold draft hit her face. It came from somewhere off to the left.

  “The crypt,” she whispered. “Now!”

  And she ran, praying the others would follow.

  “There they go!” roared a patriarch.

  Chantel could hear Anna and Bowser close behind her. The patriarchs rushed toward them. The gaping mouth of the crypt was just ahead.

  A patriarch made a grab at Chantel and she ducked out of his way. She, Bowser, and Anna stumbled onto the stairs and hurtled, half-falling, down them.

  They scrambled away from the staircase, crawling, staggering to their feet, running. It was only when Chantel smacked into a wall—a bumpy, not-quite-right feeling wall which rattled when she hit it—that she stopped.

  Anna and Bowser were beside her, panting.

  The darkness down here was total. The feeling was damp and small and made Chantel want to scream. There was a smell of mold. The walls felt oppressively close. The one Chantel was pressed against shifted and clanked.

  Why aren’t they following us? Chantel wondered.

  “Chantel!” Lord Rudolph’s voice boomed down f
rom above. “Chantel, and, er, company. Come back! There are things down there that you don’t want to meet.”

  Chantel could well believe it. But there were things up there she didn’t want to meet either.

  “Come up here and cooperate,” said Lord Rudolph. “No one will hurt you.”

  That, Chantel did not believe. Swords out, gentlemen.

  “Can we get anyone to go down there after them?” said Sir Wolfgang.

  “Any volunteers?” said Lord Rudolph sardonically.

  Silence from the patriarchs.

  “No one should go down there without a strong protection spell,” said Lord Rudolph. “We’ll post a guard, in case they come out alive.”

  Chantel tried to convince herself that this exchange was merely meant to frighten her and her companions.

  It was working.

  Something gripped her arm, and she stifled a yelp. It was only Bowser. “Can’t you girls make a light or something?” he whispered.

  “It . . . yes,” said Chantel. “Wait.”

  This spell was not as easy for her as summoning. She moved away from the not-quite-right wall. She traced the fourth sign in the air. Carefully, she took four steps backward, turned twice, put her hands on her shoulders, and then reached out her right hand. A globe of white light appeared in her hand.

  Thousands of empty eye sockets stared down at her.

  The narrow corridor was formed of bones and skulls, stacked. Rows of bones were topped by rows of skulls. Then more rows of bones and more rows of skulls, all the way to the ceiling. No wonder the wall had felt not-quite right.

  “They can’t hurt us,” Anna whispered. “They’re dead.”

  “Right, I know,” said Chantel firmly. “Let’s walk fast.”

  They walked away from the stairs and the patriarchs. Chantel held her light out before her. The rows of skulls interspersed with rows of bones went on and on and on. Lightning Pass had been a very big city for a very long time, and millions of people had died in it. And now those millions were underneath it, separated, sorted, stacked, and staring.

  “There is another way out of here, isn’t there?” said Anna, speaking aloud. They were well away from the Hall of Patriarchs now.