Casander Darkbloom and the Threads of Power

THE LAST DAY OF TERM BEFORE CHRISTMAS BREAK was a festive feast of special treats. Classes were cancelled for the day, so Cas, Warrior, Paws and Fenix squirrelled themselves away by the cosy, roaring fire in the library, buried deep in the comfort of the brightly patterned armchairs, nibbling on mince pies and drinking smooth, fudgy hot cocoa. While Paws wiled away the morning fashioning a tinsel tuxedo for Mogget, Warrior scribbled out drawings for new, fantastical illusions in her sketchbook and Fenix gathered as many books as he could carry to take home for the holidays. This was an entertaining but arduous task, as the books themselves had a mind of their own. They liked to jump about from shelf to shelf and flap around the library like large paper birds, making them very hard to catch.

“Whenever an Other writes a book, they leave behind a piece of their soul – essentially some of their threads of power – giving it life,” Mrs Crane told Cas, as she handed Fenix a net. They watched and giggled as Fenix leapt around the library, trying (and often failing) to catch the swooping books.

Despite initially making excellent progress, his last Special Studies lesson with Warrior and Dr Bane had ended on a particularly trying note.

In his first few lessons, Cas had felt like he was mastering his powers at an exceptional rate. Dr Bane had been right; learning to believe in himself truly was half the battle. Whenever Cas was struggling with something, he would take a steadying breath, clear his mind and switch his attention from focusing on the actual move to believing that he could do it.

Once, Dr Bane had released an entire cage of banshee crows, and Cas had been able to freeze them in mid-air, still flying, by only whispering, “Muskuli.” He had imagined their tiny black wings keeping them airborne, whilst their bodies became statue still. Another time, Bane unexpectedly dropped a gigantic rattlesnake on Cas’s head to teach him to deal with the element of surprise. Cas hadn’t had time to doubt himself and instead had instinctually focused hard on the snake. Within seconds, it had flipped onto its back, offering its belly to Cas to tickle like a dog.

But yesterday, Cas had been given the task of trying to make Dr Bane unconscious. It sounded simple enough, but there were so many elements to think about. Sight, sound, touch, smell – actually knocking Bane out wasn’t the problem, but to keep him down, Cas had to block out all of these senses and more. Unable to trust that he could control more than one body part, Bane kept dropping to the floor like a limp marionette and then springing awake again.

“Don’t worry,” Warrior had reassured him on their way back to the Attic. “Learning to control your abilities is obviously going to take time. There’s no point beating yourself up about it.”

Maybe Cas hadn’t been hiding his disappointment as well as he thought. Warrior seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.

“All right for you to say,” Cas grumbled bitterly. He couldn’t help himself. While his progress was tempered by how quickly – or slowly – he could memorize The Book of Skulls and Skin, Warrior’s powers seemed to double in strength with every session. Her only limit was her imagination.

“Look,” she said comfortingly, jostling his shoulder in a playful manner. “It’s just the crusty old Book of Skulls and Skin that’s bogging you down. It is useful, yes, but also packed full of gobbledegook. I’m so glad I don’t have to go back to reading it. I found it really hard.”

“Yes, but it’s not just The Book of Skulls and Skin,” she went on, growing quiet and serious. “I mean … I find reading anything hard. I think that’s why I’m so good at my illusions.”

Cas’s mind flew to the walls of the Attic. Every spare centimetre of wall was covered with Warrior’s sketches of makeshift beings – usually on the back of homework sheets she was supposed to hand in.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Warrior continued. “All the teachers want to help, even crones like Madame Aster. Most adults will, as long as you’re brave enough to ask. But I can see pictures so clearly, whereas words … they’re like infuriating squiggles that squirm and jump around on the page.

“We all have our differences, Cas. Our unique bits. Our quirks. But that’s what makes each of us special. That’s what makes us strong.”

Cas was brought back to the present reality by a frosty breeze sweeping through the library. The Du Villaines and their cronies had arrived, undoubtedly coming to ruin the Abnormies’ fun.

“It’s freezing outside,” announced Sam Du Villaine, strutting over and jabbing a finger towards the windows, where a flurry of snow was falling outside and coating the courtyard like a thick layer of marzipan.

“It’s our turn to sit by the fire,” Lucille wailed. “It’s not fair. You’ve been hogging the armchairs all morning!”

It wasn’t hard to tell that the pale twins were just trying to stir up trouble. Both Sam and Lucille were covered head to toe in thick, furry white coats, the same shade as their silvery bone-coloured hair. On their left, Maxwell Snout was so big and beefy that he was walking around in a T-shirt, oblivious to the cold. On their right, his older sister, Aubria, was sporting a pair of hideous lime-green earmuffs. The only one who looked remotely chilly was Quinnberley Crestbourne. She stood shivering behind them, her teeth chattering a million miles a minute. From the longing looks she shot her, it was clear Aubria had stolen Quinnberley’s mittens and hat.

Mrs Crane started towards the Du Villaines, staring them down with her hands on her hips. “Those seats are reserved for Gollywabbles only,” she said in her sternest voice, stepping in front of Cas and his crew like a defensive mother hen.

Mrs Crane waggled a disciplinary finger at them. Her tree-shaped tweed earrings swung ferociously as she shook her head. “Yes, there is. Everyone knows that it goes: Perfects, Student Order Heads, Headmaster’s Apprentice, Gollywabbles.”

“Normies call them Prefects,” hissed Warrior, clearly annoyed. “Yet another thing they stole from us and muddled up. Originally, here in the Balance Lands, they were called Perfects. As in, perfect students.”

Warrior struggled to stifle a snicker. “Nothing…” She lowered her voice so the Du Villaines couldn’t hear. “A made-up word… Mrs Crane uses it to keep other people off our seats.”

“It’s their own fault really,” said Fenix, dumping his mountainous stack of books on the floor and collapsing into a chair. “If they read the Wayward School handbook, they’d know that Gollywabbles don’t exist.”

“Well, erm, me,” said Fenix timidly. “You know, for fun. Or if I want something easy to read before bed.”

Cas glanced at the teetering stack of books beside the Firetamer. After Fenix had been banned from the library for a while last year – a freak accident had resulted in half the stacks going up in smoke – Mrs Crane now took the time to painstakingly coat each book he wanted to borrow in a gloopy fireproof substance. Apparently, there was nothing Mrs Crane wouldn’t do for her students.

Cas turned his attention back to the librarian just as she was shooing the Du Villaines and their minions away.

“All settled,” Mrs Crane declared, smacking her hands together satisfactorily. “Now, who’s for another mince pie?”

But by lunchtime, the situation with the library’s armchairs was very much not settled.

“Blithering banshee crows, those absolute snitches,” swore Mrs Crane, walking over with a thunderous face. Cas had never heard her speak so poorly about a pupil before. “The Du Villaines’ parents have sent a letter in. According to them, I’m giving you four ‘unfair treatment’. If we don’t give up the chairs, they’re going to have a stern word with me and Headmaster Higgles later.”

“Don’t worry,” said Paws sweetly. “It’s fine. Thanks for trying, Mrs Crane.”

Warrior sniffed. “Yeah, but I know we haven’t heard the end of this. I overheard Tweedlemean and Tweedlemeaner telling the Snouts to make our lives hell earlier. There’s still half a day left before we’re free of them for Christmas.”

“Don’t worry your little cotton socks,” said Mrs Crane. “I’m going home to spend winter break with my folks. A Bane family tradition—”

Mrs Crane looked highly amused. “He’s my brother, though he doesn’t always act like it when he abandons me at family gatherings. I often get left to squabble over the cranberry sauce with Cousin Melandra alone. Anyway, as I was saying, even though I have to go home for Christmas, I’m still going to give you four the best last day of term you’ve ever had. C’mon.”

After putting on their snuggest coats and cloaks, Mrs Crane escorted the group of them through the entrance hall and straight out of the front doors.

“Where do you think you’re going?” squawked Miss Grimbly when she caught them leaving.

“Into town for a few bits and bobs!” Mrs Crane called out over her shoulder, not bothering to look back. “Tell Dr Bane we’ll be back by the end of the day.”

But the rest of what Miss Grimbly said was drowned out by Mrs Crane, who began singing a Christmas carol at the top of her very out-of-tune lungs.

“Do we need permission to leave?” asked Fenix, gnawing on his bottom lip like a chewy toffee.

“Permission pish posh,” said Mrs Crane, shrugging the matter off as she helped to steer Paws’s wheelchair safely down the icy hill. “There hasn’t been a break-in or anything odd going on for months. We’re perfectly safe in Wayward Town as long as we stay inside the wards.”

When they reached the bottom of Wayward School’s hill, Cas’s eyes filled with wonder.

Wayward had changed location again overnight. For the past few weeks, it had sat precariously on the edge of the Balance Grand Canyon. Cas had felt incredibly sorry for any poor soul who tried to waygate there and was faced with climbing the stomach-churning yellow rock face to reach the boundary. But today Wayward had moved to the middle of the Serengeti. Sunny brown-green plains spotted with herds of wildebeest, giraffes and elephants, as well as prides of lions and even a lightning-fast cheetah, stretched far into the distance. It was in stark contrast to the cold, frigid weather inside the town. Wayward had its own weather and seasons, and in the icy grip of December, the town looked like a beautiful, jarring Christmas painting in comparison. Crooked, tiled roofs of colourful slanting shops were coated in an icing-sugar dusting of snow. Glistening icicles hung from every window and awning. The fountain that many Others used as a waygate was frozen and out of use, although people were still flooding through the wards, using portals outside the boundary to enter, and disappearing into the many mirrors propped outside buildings to leave.

It was what lay inside these shops that stoked Cas’s excitement the most, though.

“Welcome to the Classic Quarter,” said Mrs Crane with a flourish, as she and the Abnormies entered the oldest part of town. “It’s a bit old-timey, like me, but everyone knows the old-fashioned things are the best. Over there, we have Sylphie’s, a market shop where you can buy all your food and drink. Oh, and next to it is Ondine’s Oddities and Essentials … and that’s the Gnome’s Garden pub, perfect for a party. And there’s Mr Mander’s Museum of Mundane Monstrosities. Mr Mander’s is where we keep all the useless artefacts from the Normie world that we Others either can’t use or have no use for.” Through the museum’s large windows, Cas spied cars, boats and train carriages on display (Others didn’t need transport when they had waygates), alongside computers, mobile phones and cameras (the threads of power were so strong in the Balance Lands that they made anything electrical go on the blink).

“Yada, yada…” squawked Warrior, highly unimpressed. “The Classic Quarter is only the best bit of Wayward if you’re as old as the threads themselves.”

Striding ahead, she steered the group down a narrow alley until they came out on a shiny, wide street lined with modern shops. “Newbusy Avenue is better. It’s the newest, coolest part of Wayward. There’s Gladys Raggety’s Glorious Garbs” – Cas gawped at a group of giggling girls twirling around in a selection of outrageous fashions, inside a shop with a flared roof shaped like a tutu – “and then there’s The Diddly Squattery.” Warrior indicated to a tiny, teetering shop that seemed the complete opposite of Ondine’s, apparently only selling the most pointless objects – chocolate teapots, umbrellas with holes in them, and even jumpers with dead-ended arms.

A deliciously sweet smell drew Cas towards the window of Captain Caeli’s Cakery, a bakery and café whose shopfront was lined with every mouth-watering delicacy under the sun. From coal cookies to chocolate cheesecake clouds; bright blue, salty sea scones to fat, greasy bubble fritters; pink coral cupcakes and bubbling foam frothies to cans of zingy Kindlin’ Koola in whizzpoppin’ watermelon flavour.

On their tour, they passed the Legacy League, an exclusive country club for hoity-toity families like the Du Villaines, where nobody was welcome, at the opposite end of town to The Terranical Terrace, a glassy hotel with foliage spilling off the balconies, where everyone was. The most ancient building in Wayward, the gloomy Paracelus Shadow Puppet Theatre, sat adjacent to the newest one, The Arcadia – a big, arched gallery of Normie shops which had sprung up out of necessity ever since the Master of All took away the Life and Deathmakers’ powers. Doctors, opticians, dentists and even a shady market stall where you could buy poisons for a penny were located there.

A handful of people in scruffy, torn Lifemaker and Deathmaker cloaks were begging outside The Arcadia, rattling cups of change.

For the first time, Cas was confronted with exactly what the Master had taken from these people. He hadn’t just stolen their powers. For many, the loss of their magic must’ve meant the loss of their jobs and their homes.

“Can we swing by my parents’?” asked Paws, as they returned to the central square with the fountain to make their plan of attack. “I’d love to surprise them.”

“Of course,” said Mrs Crane cheerfully. “The Grover-Rosales Animal Hospital and Elementie Emporium, isn’t it?”

“We’ll just grab a few things on the way,” said Mrs Crane. “Plus, there’s somewhere I need to take Cas first.”

“There’s no point coming to Wayward Town to do some Christmas shopping if you haven’t got any pocket money. Luckily for you, I know just the place.”

Mrs Crane and the Abnormies stood outside a huge, bottle-green establishment shaped like a gigantic sweetie. Judging from the outside, the building could’ve easily been either. It was made entirely of glass and the words THE MINT EXCHANGE glittered above the door in an emerald glow. A doorman in a teal-and-white pinstripe suit ushered people inside with a polite tip of his bowler hat.

“You’ll see,” Mrs Crane replied, tapping her nose and smiling, before shooing them inside.

They entered the building onto a green-and-white-striped trading floor. Despite what Mrs Crane said, The Mint Exchange certainly looked like a bank. Clerks in teal-and-white pinstripe blazers sat behind desks, serving Others and jotting down numbers in notepads as they weighed things in strange brass contraptions. Mrs Crane and the Abnormies spotted an empty desk across from a man with a fluffy, cloud-shaped moustache, and Cas was promptly shoved into the customer seat.

“Welcome to The Mint Exchange!” he squealed in a high-pitched, chirpy voice. “Where we’ve been mint-exchange-minting since 1671! What can we do for you today?”

Cas blinked at the man in befuddlement. He was making about as much sense as the Oracle. “Um—”

Mrs Crane passed Cas a heavy, jangling money bag. Except to Cas’s surprise, when he tore it open, it wasn’t full of money. Odd knick-knacks and trinkets lay inside, everything from rubber bands to paper clips, shiny bits of jewellery to old ticket stubs, a broken pencil and even a couple of glimmering rubies and diamonds. Cas handed the bag to the clerk, who spilled the contents out into a dish on one side of the strange brass weighing contraption, as if such a random collection of objects was perfectly normal.

On the other side of the device, a number scale began to climb upwards from the hundreds into the thousands. Cas glanced around and saw many other patrons having their goods weighed too – except, he realized, the contraptions didn’t seem to be measuring weight.

“Five hundred gubbins and seventy-five doobries,” Mr Moustache happily bellowed, sliding the empty bag back towards Cas. He tipped the contents from the scale into a brass tray, which he handed to a runner.

Another pimpled clerk sprinted away with the jingling tray as Warrior, Paws and Fenix gasped beside Cas.

Mrs Crane patted his shoulder. “Our version of money, dear. Like how Normie London has pounds and pence. There are one hundred and twenty doobries to a gubbin.”

Warrior snorted. “But five hundred gubbins just for Christmas shopping? You could buy the whole town.”

Warrior tapped a seal stamped on the side of the money bag. “The Grand Council have special provisions in place at Wayward School for exceptional students like you. And seeing as you’re the Foretold…” She let out a long, low whistle. “It looks like they’ve raided the Chambers’ vaults.”

“Shh,” hissed Mrs Crane. “It’s not wise to go about blasting Cas’s identity like a foghorn.”

Sure enough, at the sound of Warrior’s exasperation, a couple of nearby patrons whipped round and stared.

“Here you are, young man,” said Mr Moustache, smiling even more widely and sliding the tray towards Cas.

In place of the trinkets, there were large, bright green coins and small, dark purple ones. Gubbins and doobries. Cas held one of the coins up to the light, inspecting it. It appeared he had swapped the objects for money…

There, he could see them: the old ticket stubs, the rubber bands, the broken pencil, the rubies and diamonds … they had been pressed down and minted into coins. He had exchanged the unspendable value of the things in the money bag for a spendable one.

“And here’s your mint,” said Mr Moustache, thrusting a glassy green boiled sweet into Cas’s palm. “Enjoy your day!”

Cas was still mesmerised by The Mint Exchange as they wandered into Ondine’s Oddities and Essentials on their way to Paws’s parents’ shop. Mrs Crane wanted to grab some last-minute Christmas presents while Fenix finished up in Bibbity Bashety Books – a bookshop where the shelves were arranged like an obstacle course and flying books ran wild, so you had to scale the stacks or leap from shelf to shelf to catch the ones you wanted.

Weaving between the shelves at Ondine’s reminded Cas of being in Mrs Crane’s curiosity shop. Ondine’s sold a rather unpredictable, eclectic mix of goods – everything from Order clothes to lavish portraits, exotic plants to training aids that claimed to help struggling Others enhance their powers.

“These things are like training wheels,” scoffed Warrior as they trudged down one such aisle, poking and prodding at the various Order offerings.

Warrior didn’t hear her. “You’d have to be really hopeless to be looking at stuff like this.”

Cas veered away from Warrior and Paws to look at a stack of tabloids and magazines. A rich-looking couple, with very familiar scowls and silvery hair, seemed to be plastered on the front of every one. Publications such as The Oracle’s Eye (“We predict tomorrow’s news before it’s even happened!”) and The Threadly Times reported on the millionaires like they were celebrities:

LIFE ON CLOUD NINE: EUPHOLOUS AND YVAINE DU VILLAINE SPILL WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BE ONE OF THE MOST INFLUENTIAL AIRSCAPER FAMILIES IN THE BALANCE LANDS

DU VILL-FAME: OUR SUPER-SECRET SECRETS TO SUCCESS

Shuddering, Cas quickly stuffed the publications back onto the stack and returned to the others. He refused to let the thought of the Du Villaine twins spoil his day.

He passed by everything from Firetamer sparkshooter bracelets (which had an eye-wateringly high price tag), to leather blinkers (designed to block out any distractions) and pink-purple crystals (which claimed to attract dirt and soil towards an Earthshaper’s power and even detect precious metals in the ground).

In one of their Order Studies lessons, Madame Aster had told them that such a feat was only achievable by an Elementie creature, though Cas couldn’t remember which one. He was just attempting to rack his brain for the answer when he rounded a corner and smacked straight into a mess of white fur and long, pale hair.

Cas staggered back, knocking over a black-spotted pot plant (with a sign which read: Tactillus Morticus – The Death Plant; dies with a single touch), and found himself staring into the bright green eyes of Lucille Du Villaine. They widened in shock, before narrowing in fury.

Cas glanced around the shop, but Lucille was alone. “I thought you were up at the school stealing our seats.”

“I was – I mean, I am… I’m going back to…” Lucille stammered. Cas was surprised to see her so shaken. She hastily moved away from the display case she had been looking at. “My parents brought me into town to shop for my Christmas present. They’re at the Legacy League having afternoon tea with my grandma.”

Cas looked sideways to see what Lucille had been examining, but she hastily grabbed a fistful of his cloak.

“Don’t tell anyone I was here,” she ordered, her eyes transforming into venomous slits. “Or I’ll make you regret it, Darkbloom.”

He was more knocked off-kilter by seeing the cool and callous Lucille Du Villaine so flustered than he was by her words. She gave the fistful of his cloak an extra tug for good measure, then flounced off. The tinkling of the bell above the door was the only sign that she had ever been there at all.

“What are you doing?” said Warrior, reappearing from behind a rack of red leather Firetamer cloaks, Paws wheeling her chair ahead of her.

“Nothing,” said Cas a little too quickly. He jerked his thumb at the display cabinet. “Just looking.”

“Are you an air-headed Airscaper in need of extra assistance?” Paws read the card propped up against a basket of twisted wooden staffs. “Try one of Articus Arroweather’s Airy-Fairy, Not-So-Quite-Contrary Airscaper Staffs today. Only nine gubbins and fifteen doobries.”

Cas knew he should tell the others about seeing Lucille lurking near the training aids, but something stopped him. In the nick of time, Mrs Crane staggered around the corner, stooping under the weight of the shopping bags filling her arms, and Cas leapt at the chance to help before Warrior could ask him any more questions.

“Everyone ready?” called Mrs Crane, counting their heads to check that they were all present. Fenix had reappeared too, equally laden with bags. “Super. Off to the Elementie Emporium we go!”