12. Networking

“Look! If I say I can’t do it, it means that I can’t!” Clara said shortly, as she scowled at Lord Jezail. Why, why, why wouldn’t he believe her?

Vassili handed his master a glass of water and took a pill from a little box. “Take this, Milord,” he said, “and you’ll feel better.”

The magician stretched out a quivering hand for the pill and, still breathing heavily after his outburst of rage, swallowed it and sank back in his chair.

“Lord Jezail hasn’t been very well,” Vassili explained, coldly. “You see, he’s hoping that there might be spells in the book for … for medicines that will help him regain his health. Surely it’s not asking too much to ask you to write them down?”

“The spells have nothing to do with medicine,” Clara said stubbornly. “It’s not that kind of book.”

“Look, can’t you just write them down? He needs to be kept calm and, quite frankly, you’re not helping him by being awkward!”

This, she thought, was more than a bit of an understatement as, at her refusal to put pen to paper, Lord Jezail had strode up and down in a towering rage before collapsing into his chair.

Clara glowered at him and sighed, for the morning had actually started quite well. She’d had breakfast in bed and when she’d come downstairs, streams of sunlight had been pouring through the high windows of the tower. Maria had obviously been busy, for the room smelt fresh and clean, the remains of the fire had been neatly swept away and a bundle of freshly chopped logs lay in the iron basket, ready to be lit. Lord Jezail and Count Vassili, who had obviously been waiting for her, looked up, smiling pleasantly.

From then on, however, things had gone from bad to worse and she lowered her eyes, unable to look at the count, who now stood stiffly by the side of his master’s chair. She’d thought him her friend but he’d given her no help and, indeed, had sided with his master. Resting her head on the back of the chair, she let her eyes wander round the ornate room before returning somewhat hopelessly, to the sheet of paper and pen that lay before her on a small table.

“Why don’t you try again?” Vassili suggested, his voice stern. “Maybe you could write out the spell that you used last year when you … er, called up daemons in the middle of the school concert.” Even now, he winced at the thought of them. “You must remember it, surely!”

Clara shrugged and said nothing.

“Don’t forget that I was there, Clara,’ he continued, his voice hardening. “I heard you. You said it as if you knew it off by heart. You didn’t falter once!”

Clara picked up the pen and fiddled with it, her hand trembling slightly. Tears pricked her eyes. How could she make them understand that the words of the spell just weren’t there? Sensing their anger and feeling decidedly nervous, she closed her eyes tightly and tried again to remember the hexes in the witches’ Book of Spells. Nothing happened. “I told you,” she said, looking upset, “I told you I can’t remember them.”

Lord Jezail sat back in his padded armchair and, with an effort, hid his frustration. He’d gone to great lengths to capture the child and now she either couldn’t or wouldn’t write down the spells that he was quite convinced she knew. It was then that he’d tried to bully her and thrown a temper tantrum that had left him weak with exhaustion.

Clara, watching him anxiously, picked up on the nasty glint in his eyes and shivered slightly. She deliberately hadn’t mentioned that she only knew the spells when she was wearing the talisman in the hope that they’d let her go but the viciousness of his expression really frightened her. What if he hexed her or something equally horrid? On the other hand, she thought, hope rising in her heart, once she had the talisman on her wrist, she might possibly be able to escape …

“Calm down, Clara,” the count said quickly. “Just relax and perhaps the words will come to you.”

“They won’t come to me,” she said in a small voice. “Honestly … they’re just not there anymore. I only ever knew them when I was wearing the talisman.”

Lord Jezail spoke a few words in German, thinking, no doubt, that Clara wouldn’t understand.

As the count had been her German teacher at Netherfield the previous year when they’d both been hunting for the talisman, Clara had more than a fair idea of what had been said. Lord Jezail had asked the count if he should let her wear the talisman! She lowered her eyes and thought fast.