Lord Jezail glowered at Clara as she entered the sitting room at the side of the count. She swallowed hard at the sight of him for he looked just as scary and horrible as ever. There were no words of greeting. Lord Jezail ignored her completely.
“Well?” he asked, glaring at the count. “Have you told her what she has to do?”
“Clara has agreed to write down the spells for you,” the count replied.
“Excellent,” Lord Jezail leant back, smiling nastily. “Sit her at that table over there,” he nodded sharply towards the window. “She can start at once.”
Clara went over to the round mahogany table where a stack of paper and a pen had been laid out in readiness. She hesitated and looked at him anxiously. “I need to touch the talisman,” she said, her voice rising nervously. “You do know that, don’t you? The spells won’t come unless I’m touching it.”
The count hastily drew another chair towards the little table and gestured to his master. “If you rest your arm here, Milord. As you did before …” he said, his voice trailing off.
“Yes, but no tricks this time,” Jezail growled. Rising grudgingly to his feet, he sat beside the little table and pulled his sleeve up to reveal the talisman. It shone, a bright band of silver, round his thin wrist as he rested his arm on the edge of the table.
Clara pulled her chair as far away from him as she could so that when she stretched her arm, it was only the tips of her fingers that touched the talisman. It was enough. Its magic flowed through her like a river and again she felt its happiness at being close to her.
“Write!” Lord Jezail snapped impatiently. “The faster the better. This is going to take all day as it is, without you wasting time!”
Count Vassili moved the pile of paper further along the table so that Clara could start.
“Are the words there?” he asked.
Clara nodded as she saw the spells in her mind and hastily started to write as Jezail twisted round in his chair to watch her, his eyes black and sharp.
Time passed and it all got a bit boring. Sun slanted in through the slit window as she wrote down page after page of the Book of Spells. Jezail sat beside her, slumped in his chair dozing fitfully while the count lay back in an armchair on the other side of the room, tapping his fingers worriedly as he wondered when the Lords of the North would arrive. He was pretty sure that they’d come in force to rescue Clara. So was his master, for that matter; which was why, after they’d laid their plans and organized the garrison of the citadel, he’d insisted that Clara write the spells down immediately.
It hadn’t proved quite as easy as that, however. Clara had been inside the crystal for a considerable length of time and had slept for the best part of two days before she woke up to the world. Maria had sat by her bedside the whole time, worried out of her mind, and Vassili, too, had been afraid; for he’d no idea if Clara might suffer any after-effects from her imprisonment. Watching her, however, eased his mind and he smiled as, now totally absorbed in her work, she finished a page, laid it on top of the growing pile in front of her and automatically reached for the next one.
As Clara continued writing, the silence deepened. Once or twice she stopped to stretch her arms, watching to see if Jezail would notice or if Count Vassili would raise his head enquiringly from across the room. Neither moved. She was pretty sure that Jezail was asleep as his rasping breath had become a slight snore but Vassili … she looked at him closely. His head had fallen back against the cushion and he was completely relaxed. He must be asleep.
Trembling slightly, she laid her pen carefully on the table and, looking at the last spell she had written, quietly folded the sheet of paper until it was small enough to go into the pocket of the little black jacket Maria had given her. In the course of the next half hour, she repeated this three times and then, with a sense of relief, continued writing. Lord Jezail would surely never know the difference.
It was Maria’s knock on the door that woke the two men. Jezail snorted and sat up with a start while Vassili opened his eyes, looking casually towards the door as Maria entered.
“I thought you might like lunch now,” she said, looking at Clara to see if she was alright.
Jezail muttered and, taking his arm off the table, rubbed it hard. It had become stiff and cramped and he wasn’t amused.
“Have you nearly finished, Clara?” the count asked.
Clara shook her head and stretched her fingers. “It’s a long book,” she said tiredly. “I’m only about half way through.”
“Maybe, we should leave the other half for tomorrow,” the count suggested, looking at his master.
Lord Jezail shook his head. “We’ll have lunch,” he said determinedly, “and then she can go on writing until dinner if needs be. Maria can take your place if you like, but I want the whole book finished today!”
It was dark and Maria had long since lit the lamps before Clara finally reached the last spell. With a sigh of relief, she put down her pen and slumped back in her chair. Her eyes closed. She was dead tired and all she wanted to do was sleep for a week.
“You’ve finished?” Maria queried, rising from her chair. “Thank goodness!”
Lord Jezail stirred.
“Master,” Maria shook his arm. “Master, Clara has finished writing.”
Lord Jezail looked from the neatly stacked pile of papers on the table to Clara. His eyes were suspicious. “Did you write down all of the spells?” he asked. “You didn’t leave any of them out, did you?”
Clara looked him in the eye. “I wrote them all down,” she said firmly, “and I didn’t leave any of them out.”
Her gaze was direct and honest and Jezail knew instinctively that she was telling the truth. He turned to the table and fingered the sheets of paper, his black eyes gleaming in triumph. The Book of Spells! It was his at last! Hands trembling, he picked up the top sheet of paper and scanning the spell greedily, started to read.
Seeing her master so totally absorbed, Maria took Clara’s arm and led her gently to the door. “Come on, Clara,” she whispered. “You’ll feel better once you’ve had some supper.”
Clara nodded, feeling the gentle crackle of paper in her pocket as she followed Maria down the spiral staircase. She hadn’t actually lied to Lord Jezail, she thought guiltily, for she had, indeed, written down every spell in the book — what she hadn’t mentioned was that four of them nestled safely in her pocket.