Part 25 (2/2)

Christopher listened to this with some interest, because he had always wondered how the Anywheres had come about. ”And did the Series happen the same way?” he asked.

”Yes indeed,” said Flavian, obviously thinking Christopher was a very good pupil. ”Take Series Seven, which is a mountain Series. In prehistory, the earth's crust must have buckled many more times than it did here. Or Series Five, where all the land became islands, none of them larger than France. Now these arethe same right across the Series, but the course of history in each world is different. It's history that makes the differences. The easiest example is our own Series, Twelve, where our world, which we call World A, is oriented on magic-which is normal for most worlds. But the next world, World B, split off in the Fourteenth Century and turned to science and machinery. The world beyond that, World C, split off in Roman times and became divided into large empires. And it went on like that up to nine. There are usually nine to a Series.”

”Why are they numbered back to front?” Christopher asked.

”Because we think One was the original world of the twelve,” Flavian said. ”Anyway it was the Great Mages of One who first discovered the other worlds, and they did the numbering.”

This was a much better explanation than the one Tacroy had given. Christopher felt obliged to Flavian for it. So that when Flavian asked, ”Now what do you think makes us call these twelve the Related Worlds?” Christopher felt he owed him an answer.

”They all speak the same languages,” he said.

”Very good!” said Flavian. His pale face went pink with surprise and pleasure. ”You are a good pupil!”

”Oh, I'm absolutely brilliant,” Christopher said bitterly.

Unfortunately, when Flavian turned to practical magic on alternate afternoons, Christopher was anything but brilliant. With Dr. Pawson he had become used to spells that really did something. But with Flavian he went back to small elementary magics of the kind he had been doing at school. They bored Christopher stiff. He yawned and he spilled things and usually, keeping a special vague look on his face so that Flavian would not notice what he was doing, he made the spells work without going through more than half the steps.

”Oh no,” Flavian said anxiously, when he did notice. ”That's enchanter's magic. We'll be starting on that in a couple of weeks. But you have to know basic witchcraft first. It's most important for you to know whether a witch or wizard is misusing the craft when you come to be the next Chrestomanci.”

That was the trouble with Flavian. He was always saying, ”When you come to be the next Chrestomanci.” Christopher felt bitterly angry. ”Is Gabriel de Witt going to die soon?” he said.

”I don't imagine so. He still has eight lives left,” said Flavian. ”Why do you ask?”

”It was a whim,” Christopher said, thinking angrily of Papa.

”Oh dear,” Flavian said, worrying because he was failing to keep his pupil interested. ”I know- we'll go out into the gardens and study the properties of herbs. You may like that part of witchcraft better.”

Down into the gardens they went, into a raw gray day. It was one of those summers that was more like winter than many winters are. Flavian stopped under a huge cedar and invited Christopher to consider the ancient lore about cedarwood. Christopher was in fact quite interested to hear that cedar was part of the funeral pyre from which the Phoenix was reborn, but he was not going to let Flavian see he was. As Flavian talked, his eye fell on the separate ruined piece of castle, and he knew that if he asked about that Flavian would only tell him that they would be doing misdirection spells next month-which put another thing he wanted to know into his mind.

”When am I going to learn how to fasten a person's feet to the spot?” he asked.

Flavian gave him a sideways look. ”We won't be doing magic that affects other people until next year,” hesaid. ”Come over to the laurel bushes now and let's consider those.”

Christopher sighed as he followed Flavian over to the big laurels by the drive. He might have known Flavian was not going to teach him anything useful! As they approached the nearest bush, a ginger cat emerged from among the s.h.i.+ny leaves, stretching and glaring irritably. When it saw Flavian and Christopher, it advanced on them at a trot, purpose all over its savage, lop-eared face.

”Look out!” Flavian said urgently.

Christopher did not need telling. He knew what this particular cat could do. But he was so astonished at seeing Throgmorten here at Chrestomanci Castle that he forgot to move. ”Who-whose cat is that?” he said.

Throgmorten recognized Christopher too. His tail went up, thinner and more snaky than ever, and he stopped and stared. ”Wong?” he said incredulously. And he advanced again, but in a much more stately way, like a Prime Minister greeting a foreign President. ”Wong,” he said.

”Careful!” said Flavian, prudently backing behind Christopher. ”It's an Asheth Temple cat. It's safest not to go near it.”

Christopher of course knew that, but Throgmorten was so evidently meaning to be polite that he risked squatting down and cautiously holding out his hand. ”Yes, wong to you too,” he said. Throgmorten put forward his moth-eaten-looking orange nose and dabbed at Christopher's hand with it.

”Great heavens! The thing actually likes you!” said Flavian. ”n.o.body else dares get within yards of it.

Gabriel's had to give all the outdoor staff special s.h.i.+elding spells or they said they'd leave. It tears strips off people through ordinary spells.”

”How did it get here?” Christopher said, letting Throgmorten politely investigate his hand.

”n.o.body knows-at least not how it wandered in here from Series Ten,” Flavian said. ”Mordecai found it in London, brave man, and brought it here in a basket. He recognized it by its aura, and he said if he could, then most wizards would, too, and they'd kill it for its magical properties. Most of us think that wouldn't be much loss, but Gabriel agreed with Mordecai.”

Christopher had still not learned the names of all the sober-suited men around the Sunday lunch-table.

”Which one is Mr. Mordecai?” he said.

”Mordecai Roberts-he's a particular friend of mine, but you won't have met him yet,” said Flavian. ”He works for us in London these days. Perhaps we could get on with herb lore now.”

At that moment, a strange noise broke from Throgmorten's throat, a sound like wooden cogwheels not connecting very well. Throgmorten was purring. Christopher was unexpectedly touched. ”Does he have a name?” he asked.

”Most people just call him That Thing,” said Flavian.

”I shall call him Throgmorten,” said Christopher, at which Throgmorten's cogwheels went around more noisily than ever.

”It suits him,” said Flavian. ”Now, please- consider this laurel.”

With Throgmorten sauntering amiably beside him, Christopher heard all about laurels and found it all much easier to take. It amused him the way Flavian took care to keep well out of reach of Throgmorten. From then on, in a standoffish way, Throgmorten became Christopher's only friend in the Castle. They both seemed to have the same opinion of the people in it. Christopher once saw Throgmorten encounter Gabriel de Witt coming down the pink marble stairs. Throgmorten spat and flew at Gabriel's long thin legs, and Christopher was charmed and delighted at the speed with which those long thin legs raced up the stairs again to get away.

Christopher hated Gabriel more every time he had a lesson with him. He decided that the reason Gabriel's room always seemed so dark in spite of all its windows was because it reflected Gabriel's personality. Gabriel never laughed. He had no patience with slowness, or mistakes, and he seemed to think Christopher ought to know everything he taught him at once, by instinct. The trouble was that, the first week, when Flavian and Gabriel were teaching him about the Related Worlds, Christopher had known all about them, from the Anywheres, and this seemed to have given Gabriel the idea that Christopher was a good learner. But after that, they went on to the different kinds of magics, and Christopher just could not seem to get it through his head why witchcraft and enchanters' magic were not the same, or how wizardry differed from sorcery and both from magicians' magic.

It was always a great relief to Christopher when his lesson with Gabriel was over. Afterwards, Christopher usually sneaked Throgmorten indoors and the two of them explored the Castle together.

Throgmorten was not allowed inside the Castle, which was why Christopher liked to have him there.

Once or twice, with luck and cunning from both of them, Throgmorten spent the night on the end of Christopher's bed, purring like a football rattle. But Miss Rosalie had a way of knowing where Throgmorten was. She nearly always arrived wearing gardening gloves and chased Throgmorten out with a broom. Luckily Miss Rosalie was often busy straight after lessons, so Throgmorten galloped beside Christopher down the long corridors and through the rambling attics, thrusting his face into odd corners and remarking ”Wong!” from time to time.

The Castle was huge. The weighty, baffling spells hung heavily over most of it, but there were parts that n.o.body used where the spells seemed to have worn thin. Christopher and Throgmorten were both happiest in those parts. The third week, they discovered a big round room in a tower, which looked to have been a wizard's workshop at one time. It had shelves around the walls, three long workbenches, and a pentagram painted on the stone floor. But it was deserted and dusty and stuffy with the smell of old, old magic.

”Wong,” Throgmorten said happily.

”Yes,” Christopher agreed. It seemed a waste of a good room. When I'm the next Chrestomanci, he thought, I shall make sure this room is used. Then he was angry with himself, because he was not going to be the next Chrestomanci. He had caught the habit from Flavian. But I could make this a secret workshop of my own, he thought. I could sneak stuff up here bit by bit.

The next day, he and Throgmorten went exploring for a new attic where there might be things Christopher could use to furnish the tower room. And they discovered a second tower up a second, smaller winding stair. The spells were worn away almost entirely here, because this tower was ruinous. It was smaller than the other tower room and half its roof was missing. Half the floor was wet with that afternoon's rain. Beyond that there was what had once been a mullioned window. It was now a slope of wet rubbly wall with one stone pillar standing out of it.

”Wong wong!” Throgmorten uttered approvingly. He went trotting over the wet floor and jumped up onto the broken wall.

Christopher followed him eagerly. They both climbed out onto the slope of rubble beyond what was left of the window and looked down at the smooth lawn and the tops of the cedar trees. Christopher caughta glimpse of the separate piece of castle with the misdirection spell on it. It was almost out of sight beyond the k.n.o.bby stonework of the tower, but he thought he should be high enough to see into it over the trees growing on top of it. Holding on to the pillar that had been part of the window, he stepped further out on the broken slope and leaned right out to see.

The pillar snapped in half.

Christopher's feet shot forward on the slippery stones. He felt himself plunge through the air and saw the cedars rus.h.i.+ng past upside down. Bother! he thought. Another life! He remembered that the ground stopped him with a terrible jolt. And he had a vague notion that Throgmorten somehow followed him down and then proceeded to make an appalling noise.

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