10

TELLING TALES

Thornmallow hadn’t meant to tell anyone. Really he hadn’t. And he only told Will because Will was waiting for him in his bedroom.

“Are you all right, Thorny?” Will asked, sitting with his legs tucked under him on the bed. “You look like my sister Mairsie does whenever she fibs. Or my sister Maisie does when she has fallen out of love.” He looked carefully at Thornmallow. “And that happens to them both all the time.”

Thornmallow nodded unhappily.

“The Seven Sis—” the star map began, stopping abruptly when Will shot his right pinky up in the air.

“How did you do that?” Thornmallow asked. “And why? I like the map and the way it says the star names.”

“I did it so we can talk, Thorny,” Will said. “Without interruption from on high, so to speak.” When he saw Thornmallow’s face, he added, “That’s a joke.” Then he held up his left hand. “If you want to start it again, you jab your left pinky up like this.” The map began again.

“—ters,” it said. “The Bear.”

Thornmallow put his right pinky in the air. Nothing happened. The map kept speaking, running through two names and starting on a third. “The Big Dip—”

“Here!” said Will, grabbing Thornmallow’s hand and jabbing it upward. “Give it a little oomph!”

The map stopped in midname with a peculiar popping, almost like a hiccup.

“Now, what’s this all really about, Thorny?” Will asked, shaking his head and looking so sympathetic that Thornmallow spilled out the whole story before he could stop himself.

“Whush!” Will said, lying back on the bed and staring up at the star map. He wrinkled his nose as if he himself were smelling the Beast. Above him the lights of the silent map glowed steadily. “And they really said that tomorrow was the day?”

“Tomorrow night, actually.” Thornmallow sat down heavily at the foot of the bed, and his hands wrangled together.

For a long moment Will was silent. Needing the reassurance of words, Thornmallow stuck his left pinky in the air with as much oomph as he could muster. But the map, too, was silent.

At last Will sat up. “Only the magisters and you know about this?”

Thornmallow nodded glumly. “They didn’t want a panic,” he said. “So only the magisters and I—and you—know. I sort of promised not to tell,” he added miserably.

“Then I sort of promise not to tell anyone else,” Will said. “Or panic.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. “The Quilted Beast. And his Master. Whush. I’ll have to think about that! Good night.” He rose.

“Will …,” Thornmallow began.

“What?”

“Could you start the stars again? I like to go to sleep while they’re still talking.”

“Just put your hand up,” Will said. “Your left hand. Left pinky.”

Thornmallow did. When nothing happened, Will grabbed his hand and jerked it upward.

“—per!” said the stars, rather more loudly than before.

“Easy, see?” said Will. “Any first-year can do it. Oh, and can I have my handkerchief back now? Your nose is clean.”

Thornmallow pulled it from his pocket, crumpled and smudgy, and Will smoothed it out, shook it, and the smudges fell off on the floor. Then he slid the handkerchief back into his pocket, and left the room.

The next morning Thornmallow got up at the bell. His scholar’s robe was freshly pressed and hanging in the closet. He put on his clothes and, with the hem of the robe flapping about his ankles, was in the hallway by second bell.

“Today’s the day,” shouted Tansy at the first turning.

“Tonight’s the night,” added Gorse mysteriously.

“For what?” A cold chill started down Thornmallow’s spine.

“You know,” they answered together, their voices purposefully eerie.

When he caught up with Will, Thornmallow grabbed him by the sleeve. “You promised!” he whispered furiously.

“Promised what?”

“Not to tell.”

“Tell what?”

“About the Beast. And its Master.”

“I only told Tansy,” Will said.

“And I only told Gorse,” Tansy added, catching up to them.

“And I never promised anything,” said Gorse, panting a little as she came up behind. “Though I just heard, so I haven’t had time to tell anyone else.”

“Well, you mustn’t. This isn’t a game. It isn’t fun or funny. It is serious and dangerous.” Thornmallow was shaking with a combination of anger and dread.

“Listen, Thornmallow,” Gorse began, “all magic is serious and dangerous. Which is not to say you can’t have fun with it as well.”

“You didn’t smell the Beast. You didn’t hear the magisters. I did. But I wasn’t supposed to tell, and now I have got to find Magister Hickory and confess that I did.”

“Bad idea,” warned Gorse. “Confess to a wizard, and you’ll get swat for sure. Trust me. My da is a—”

“Bush wizard. Yes, we know all about him, Gorse,” said Will. “But we’ve all let Thorny down. Especially me. Going with him to see Magister Hickory is the least we can do. And if it means a punishment, then we’ve got it coming.”

He dragged Thornmallow off to the left, and Tansy dragged Gorse to the right. They met around the next corner and walked four-abreast down the hall. At the corridor’s end was a big door with Magister Hickory’s name carved in gold on the crosspiece, jets of lightning streaking down each side.

“That’s a different door from yesterday,” Thornmallow said suspiciously.

“Of course,” said Gorse. “This is a different day.”

“You can’t expect it to stay the same,” Tansy added. “Not at Wizard’s Hall.”

It was then they heard the voice, dark and infinitely cold, behind the door.

“That’s …,” Thornmallow began. Then the iciness of the voice sealed his lips, and he couldn’t say anything more.