Part 30 (2/2)

As they walked along the corridor, Christopher caught up with what Flavian had been saying. ”You're all going after the Wraith tomorrow?”

”If we can get him,” Flavian said. ”After you left, Mordecai cracked open enough to give us a few names and addresses. We think he was telling the truth.” He sighed. ”I'd look forward to catching them, except that I can't get over Mordecai being one of them!”

What about Mama? Christopher wondered anxiously. He wished he could think of a way to warn her, but he had no idea where in Kensington she was living.

They reached the schoolroom. The moment they got there, Christopher realized that he had only canceled the invisibility on his room, not on the G.o.ddess or the kitten. He fumbled around with his mind, trying to find her in the tower room-or wherever-and get her visible again. But wherever he had sent her, she seemed too far away for him to find. The result was that he did not hear anything Flavian said forat least twenty minutes.

”I said” Flavian said heavily, ”that you seem a bit vague.”

He had said it several times, Christopher could tell. He said hastily, ”I was wondering what was going to happen to Ta-Mordecai Roberts now.”

”Prison, I suppose,” Flavian answered sadly. ”He'll be in clink for years.”

”But they'll have to put a special clink around his spirit to stop that getting away, won't they?” Christopher said.

To his surprise, Flavian exploded. ”That's just the kind of d.a.m.n-fool, frivolous, unfeeling remark you would make!” he cried out. ”Of all the hardhearted, toffee-nosed, superior little beggars I've ever met, you're the worst! Sometimes I don't think you have a soul-just a bundle of worthless lives instead!”

Christopher stared at Flavian's usually pale face all pink with pa.s.sion, and tried to protest that he had not meant to be unfeeling. He had only meant that it must be quite hard to keep a spirit traveler in prison. But Flavian, now he had started, seemed quite unable to stop.

”You seem to think,” he shouted, ”that those nine lives give you the right to behave like the Lord of Creation! That, or there's a stone wall around you. If anyone so much as tries to be friendly, all they get is haughty stares, vague looks, or pure d.a.m.n rudeness! Goodness knows, I've tried. Gabriel's tried.

Rosalie's tried. So have all the maids, and they say you don't even notice them! And now you make jokes about poor Mordecai! I've had enough! I'm sick of you!”

Christopher had no idea that people saw him like this. He was astounded. What's gone wrong with me?

he thought. I'm nice really! When he went to the Anywheres as a small boy, everyone had liked him.

Everybody had smiled. Total strangers had given him things. Christopher saw that he had gone on thinking that people only had to see him to like him, and it was only too clear that n.o.body did. He looked at Flavian, breathing hard and glaring at him. He seemed to have hurt Flavian's feelings badly. He had not thought Flavian had feelings to hurt. And it made it worse somehow that he had not meant to make a joke about Tacroy-not when Tacroy had just spent the whole day lying on his behalf. He liked Tacroy.

The trouble was, he did not dare tell Flavian he did. Nor did he dare say that his mind had mostly been on the G.o.ddess. So what could he say?

”I'm sorry,” he said. ”Truly sorry.” His voice came out wobbly with shock. ”I didn't mean to hurt your feelings-not this time anyway-really.”

”Well!” said Flavian. The pink in his face died away. He leaned back in his chair, staring. ”That's the first time I've ever heard you say sorry-meaning it, that is. I suppose it's some kind of breakthrough.” He clapped his chair back to the floor and stood up. ”Sorry I lost my temper. But I don't think I can go on with this lesson today. I feel too emotional. Run away, and I'll make up for it after tomorrow.”

Christopher found himself free-and with mixed feelings about it-to go and look for the G.o.ddess. He hurried to the tower room.

To his great relief she was there, in a strong smell of boiled-over milk, sitting on the many-colored silk cus.h.i.+ons, feeding the kitten out of a tiny doll's feeding-bottle. With the charcoal warming the air and the carpet--which now had a singed patch beside the brazier-covering the stone floor, the room seemed suddenly homey.

The G.o.ddess greeted him with a most un-G.o.ddesslike giggle. ”You forgot to make me visible again! I'venever done invisibility-it took me ages to find how to cancel it, and I had to stand still the whole time in case I trod on Proudfoot. Thanks for doing this room. Those cups are really pretty.”

Christopher giggled too at the sight of the G.o.ddess in his Norfolk jacket and knee-breeches. If you looked just at the clothes, she was a plump boy, rather like Oneir, but if you looked at her grubby bare feet and her long hair, you hardly knew what she was. ”You don't look much like the Living Asheth-” he began.

”Don't!” The G.o.ddess sprang to her knees, carefully bringing the kitten and its bottle with her. ”Don't say that name! Don't even think it! She's me, you know, as much as I'm her, and if anyone reminds her, she'll notice where I am and send the Arm of Asheth!”

Christopher realized that this must be true or the G.o.ddess could not have got to his world alive. ”Then what am I supposed to call you?”

”Millie,” said the G.o.ddess firmly, ”like the girl in the schoolbooks.”

He had known she would get around to school before long. He tried to keep her off the subject by asking, ”Why do you call the kitten Proudfoot? Isn't that dangerous too?”

”A bit,” the G.o.ddess agreed. ”But I had to put Mother Proudfoot off the scent-she was ever so flattered-I felt mean deceiving her. Luckily there was an even better reason to call her that. Look.” She laid the doll's bottle down and gently spread one of the kitten's tiny front paws out over the top of her finger. Its claws were pink. The paw looked like a very small daisy, Christopher thought, kneeling down to look. Then he realized that there were an awful lot of pink claws-at least seven of them in fact. ”She has a holy foot,” the G.o.ddess said solemnly. ”That means she carries the luck of a certain golden deity.

When I saw it, I knew it meant I should get here and go to school.”

They were back on the G.o.ddess's favorite subject again. Fortunately, at that moment a powerful contralto voice spoke outside the door. ”Wong,” it said.

”Throgmorten!” Christopher said. He jumped up in great relief and went to open the door. ”He won't hurt the kitten, will he?”

”He'd better not!” said the G.o.ddess.

But Throgmorten was entirely glad to see all of them. He ran to the G.o.ddess with his tail up and the G.o.ddess, despite greeting him, ”Hallo, you vile cat!” rubbed Throgmorten's ears and was obviously delighted to see him. Throgmorten gave the kitten an ownerlike sniff and then settled down between Christopher and the fire, purring like a rusty clock.

In spite of this interruption, it was only a matter of time before the G.o.ddess got around to school again.

”You got into trouble-didn't you?-when I kept you in the wall,” she said, thoughtfully eating a salmon sandwich. Christopher had to look away.

”I know you did, or you'd have said. What are these funny fishy things?”

”Salmon sandwiches,” Christopher said with a shudder, and he told her about the way Gabriel had put his ninth life in a gold ring in order to take his mind off mermaids.

”Without even asking you first?” the G.o.ddess said indignantly. ”Now you're the one who's worst off. Just let me get settled in at school and I'll think of a way to get that life back for you.”

Christopher realized that the time had come to explain the realities of life in Series Twelve to theG.o.ddess. ”Look,” he said, as kindly as he could, ”I don't think you can go to school-or not to a boarding school like the one in your books. They cost no end of money. Even the uniforms are expensive. And you haven't even brought your jewelry to sell.”

To his surprise, the G.o.ddess was quite unconcerned. ”My jewelry was nearly all silver. I couldn't bring it without harming you,” she pointed out. ”I came prepared to earn the money.” Christopher wondered how. By showing her four arms in a freak show? ”I know I will,” the G.o.ddess said confidently. ”I have Proudfoot's holy foot as an omen.”

She really did seem to believe this. ”My idea was to write to Dr. Pawson,” Christopher said.

”That might help,” the G.o.ddess agreed. ”When Millie's friend Cora Hope-Fforbes's father broke his neck hunting, she had to borrow her school fees. I do know all about these things, you see.”

Christopher sighed and conjured some paper and a pen from the schoolroom to write to Dr. Pawson with. This intrigued the G.o.ddess mightily. ”How did you do that? Can I learn to do it too?” she wanted to know.

”Why not?” said Christopher. ”Gabriel said you were obviously an enchantress. The main rule is to visualize the thing you want to bring on its own. When Flavian started me conjuring, I kept fetching bits of wall and table too.”

They spent the next hour or so conjuring things the G.o.ddess needed: more charcoal, a dirt-tray for the kitten, socks for the G.o.ddess, a blanket and several scent-sprays to counteract the strong odor of Throgmorten. In between, they considered what to write to Dr. Pawson and the G.o.ddess made notes about it in slanting foreign-look ing handwriting. They had not made much progress with the letter when the gong sounded distantly for supper. Then Christopher had to agree that the G.o.ddess could conjure his supper tray to the tower. ”But I have to go to the schoolroom first,” he warned her, ”or the maid that brings it will guess. Give me five minutes.”

He arrived at the schoolroom at the same time as the maid. Remembering Flavian's outburst, Christopher looked at the maid carefully and then smiled at her-at least, it was partly to keep her from suspecting about the G.o.ddess, but he smiled at her anyway.

The maid was obviously delighted to be noticed. She leaned on the table beside the tray and started to talk. ”The police carried off that old woman,” she said, ”about an hour ago. Kicking and shouting, she was. Sally and I sneaked into the hall to watch. It was as good as a play!”

”What about Ta-Mordecai Roberts?” Christopher asked.

”Held for further questioning,” said the maid, ”with spells all over him. Poor Mr. Roberts-Sally said he looked tired to death when she took him in his supper. He's in that little room next the library. I know he's done wrong, but I keep trying to make an excuse to go in and have a chat with him-cheer him up a bit. Bertha's been in. She got to make up the bed there, lucky thing!”

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