CHAPTER 11

SHE FOUND THE RUNE IN THE FOURTH BOOK SHE looked in and traced the spiky diamond shape onto a strip of fragile paper.

“Here, Uncle, I’ve got it!” she shouted, tumbling into the Hatmaking Workshop.

“Shhh!” Aunt Ariadne hushed her.

Uncle Tiberius was bent over a small wooden loom, weaving fine strands of silver into a ribbon. His large hands worked deftly with the delicate threads and his tongue poked out of his mouth in concentration.

“Thing is …” he muttered, as much to himself as anybody else, “it requires tact and politeness to bring these threads together … and silence is vital, Dilly …”

“Sorry,” Cordelia whispered.

“Lay the paper there, Cordelia, thank you.” Aunt Ariadne’s arms had turned pale blue: she was up to her elbows in a vat of dye. Cordelia could smell chamomile and woad steeping in the hot water.

“Can I do anything else?” Cordelia asked, but her aunt shook her head.

“Run along. Go and play. Quietly.”

Cordelia laid the rune on the table and backed reluctantly out of the workshop. She closed the door as softly as she could. There was still an hour to go before it was time to set out for the theater. She felt restless, keen to do something useful to make the time go quicker.

In the Alchemy Parlor, she found Great-aunt Petronella squinting into one of her telescopes while tying a piece of copper wire in complicated knots.

“Great-aunt, can I help you with anything?”

“Για να δώσετε μια ασημένια γλώσσα στην πριγκίπισσα,” Great-aunt Petronella said, screwing her eye into the telescope again and swiveling the dials.

Cordelia sighed. When her great-aunt started speaking Ancient Greek, it was time to leave. She would not get an English word out of her for several hours.

She hurried back to the Library and threw open the window, searching the sky for Agatha. Nothing.

“I wish she would hurry up,” Cordelia said, stroking Margaret’s wing. “It would be useful to have a note from Father before I set off tonight, with his location, so I can find him by the stars.”

Margaret cooed in an understanding sort of way.

Suddenly Cordelia remembered that she hadn’t told Goose about their trip to the theater. She scrawled a message, with instructions to be ready on the corner of his street at seven o’clock.

“You’re looking for a boy,” she whispered to Margaret, rolling the note up. “About this tall, and quite clever, with a slightly strange haircut. He has a timid expression, except when he’s talking about boats. He’s only three streets away, at Bootmaker Mansion, probably in his schoolroom. Make sure his mother doesn’t see you. Tap on his window with your beak.”

She stood watching Margaret flit into the dusk. The sky was growing dark, ocean-deep. She searched the heavens until her eyes watered for a sign of the speckle-winged Agatha flying back to her. How wide was the world? How long would it take the bird to wing her way through the sky to her father?

A little while later, Cordelia softly pushed open the workshop door to discover that her aunt and uncle were still busily occupied. Venus winked outside the window and they were steaming and pinning felt onto the hatblock in the middle of the workbench. For several awed moments, Cordelia watched as the hat began to take shape in front of her eyes. Then she tiptoed away.

In her Alchemy Parlor Great-aunt Petronella was stirring her fire, and in the kitchen Cook was stirring her saucepans.

Cordelia left a note in the front hall:

Gone to the theater! To see a play about a nunnery.

Love, Dilly

Then she slipped out of the door. She was wearing her best cape and a handsome hat, decorated with a plumy Moonwing feather that she had borrowed from the shop window.

She walked quickly to the bottom of Bulstrode Street. Because Hatmakers and Bootmakers were sworn enemies, Cordelia was not welcome at Goose’s house. Not that it looked very welcoming anyway. It was a tall gray building with dark windows and complicated carving on the stonework. She dawdled on the corner at a safe distance.

Nearby St. Auspice’s Church struck seven and a small figure emerged from the front door of the mansion and hared down the street toward her.

“Evening, Cordelia!” Goose panted, out of breath already. “This is exciting!”

Cordelia smiled.

“Hello, Goose! You got away all right then. What excuse did you give your parents?” she asked, glancing back at gloomy Bootmaker Mansion.

Goose waved his hand. “Oh, they’re both really busy working on—um—on some important things,” he replied. “They won’t even notice I’m gone.”

“Here, put this on.”

Cordelia pulled a Camouflage Cap from under her cape. Even though it looked like a normal black top hat, it had a cleverly concealed wire that wrapped around the chin. A bushy beard and impressive mustache (made of crimped sheep’s wool dyed rusty red) was attached to the wire. When Goose put it on, he looked as though he had sprouted a full face of hair. Cordelia snorted with laughter.

“You look very grown-up all of a sudden!”

“This is so clever!” Goose enthused, twirling the tips of his new mustache. “I’ve never worn a Hatmaker hat before!”

They set off for the theater through the streets and squares of London. Halfway along Bond Street, they saw Sam Lightfinger hawking a newspaper called The Evening Sneer.

“GETCHA EVENIN’ SNEER! READ ALL ABOUT THE STINKY FRENCH!”

“Let’s cross over,” Goose urged, pulling Cordelia by the elbow. “That’s Cloakmaker Hall—I don’t want to walk past the front door.”

So Cordelia contented herself with waving to Sam from across the road. Sam waved back.

“Need any NEWS?” he yelled. “It’s extra-bad tonight!”

“No, thanks!” Cordelia called, hurrying after Goose.

Hatmaker and Bootmaker were just passing through leafy Berkeley Square when a shout rang out.

“Hey, sir! I demand that you face me!”

Cordelia and Goose swung around, surprised.

“Ah! You lily-livered scoundrel!” another voice yelped. “I have been looking everywhere for you!”

It was the young men who had come into the shop earlier, each demanding a hat to win a duel. They were marching toward each other, red in the face. Cordelia was glad to see they were both clutching their hatboxes. One of the boys had a girl following him. She was dressed in a frilly frock and trying to look dramatic.

“Oh, Archibald! Please do not duel on my account!” she cried, waving a lace handkerchief around. “Have mercy!”

“Stay out of this, Janet,” the boy called Archibald snapped.

Janet looked miffed.

“You!” Archibald pointed at the other boy. “Ferdinand Spouter! You have been a thorn in my side for too long!”

“HAH!” bellowed Ferdinand. “You are not sharp enough to be a thorn, Baldie Bluntwort. You are a pebble in my shoe! And a dull, gray one at that!”

“’Tis time for the pistols!” Archibald announced, shaking away Janet. He never took his eyes off Ferdinand.

Cordelia pulled Goose behind a tree in case things went badly wrong.

Janet was wailing, “Ay, me!” in a very shrill voice.

“Oh, do shut up your bleating, Sniffy Goat Gruff,” Ferdinand barked at her, taking a pistol.

“How dare you!” Janet bawled.

“Ten paces!” Archibald yelled.

Cordelia peered out from behind the tree.

The boys, each gripping a pistol, took ten long strides in opposite directions, and turned to face each other. Then they opened their hatboxes and pulled out the hats. Cordelia saw the gleam of the pale cap and the flash of the red beret as they jammed them on their heads.

Janet was watching with an eager, triumphant look on her face. Goose groaned. Cordelia held her breath.

There was a moment when the gunshots should have come.

The moment passed.

Archibald blinked several times, the Love Beetle wings glinting on his hat. Ferdinand gasped quietly, one hand went to his chest and the other (the hand holding the pistol) fell limply to his side.

Archibald dropped his pistol on the grass. He was gazing at Ferdinand with the kind of eyes that idolize. Ferdinand looked tenderly back at him.

The boys walked bashfully toward each other.

“What on earth are you doing?” Janet hissed at Archibald, who ignored her.

Goose, crouching behind the tree, had his eyes screwed shut and his fingers in his ears. Cordelia tapped his arm.

“Goose!” she whispered. “The hats worked!”

The boys were face to face now.

“Oh, Baldie,” Ferdinand breathed.

“Ferdie,” Archibald answered softly. “You are not a thorn; you are a beautiful rose.”

“And you are no dull pebble—you are a diamond!” Ferdinand whispered.

He reached up and tenderly touched Archibald’s cheek. Archibald blushed and, in one sweeping rush, Ferdinand kissed him.

“WHAT?” Janet shrieked. “This is not what was meant to happen!”

Ferdinand and Archibald kissed so passionately that their hats came off.

Cordelia gulped as the boys pulled apart, staring at each other in surprise. For a terrible, frozen moment Cordelia thought they would kill each other with their bare hands.

Then Archibald did something nobody expected. He leaned forward and kissed Ferdinand again.

A church bell bonged triumphantly. It was quarter past the hour and Cordelia grabbed Goose’s hand and pulled him up.

“Come on, Goose! We can’t be late for the theater!” she cried, running full pelt along the street.