Margot

The last thing Margot thought she heard, somewhere beneath the tumult, was the sound of Moon’s high little voice raised in ear-splitting discontent. It was she who disappeared first, directly after the explosion of power that threatened to split her into pieces.

Then the mirrors had vanished, and that fact struck Margot as odder than all the rest.

But then Margot was vanished, too, all in a flurry. She came out in a serene, moonlit arbour, as composedly seated as though she had been there all afternoon. The scene around her was not unfamiliar: she recognised the twisting curves of the old trees’ contorted boughs, silhouetted in the low light; she knew the silvery fruits that hung from their boughs, and felt again the same peace she had known upon looking into the grove before. She had seen it through the window in Pharamond’s workshop in Argantel.

And now she was here.

Some things were different from her memory of the place. For one, a small pool of clear, glassy water lay before her, and that had not been there before.

For another, the arbour was no longer a place of quiet serenity, for it was filled with people. All the Elements were present, seated around the pool in a circle. The one they called the Skies was stationed to her left; he caught her eye, and winked, displaying no signs of suffering the same disquiet she was feeling herself. On her other side was Rozebaiel, her hands webbed about with stranded silks she was busily knotting together.

There were a few empty spaces around the pool, but these were soon filled. Florian popped up first, looking dishevelled and uneasy. Then came Sylvaine, who glared about herself in high dudgeon, but did not speak. The last place was taken by Oriane.

Margot waited for her father to arrive, or Thandrian and Pharamond, but in vain. They did not appear.

Moon presided.

‘This is my very favourite place,’ she said sternly, and for some reason Margot thought that she was talking to the water. ‘You will behave in here, and be good to my friends, or I will make you very sorry!’

She spoke with the authority of a child instructing her dolls in good behaviour, but Margot still could not decide just who she was addressing.

Until the pool twitched and glittered, and then bubbled and boiled, and a thrashing commotion sprayed water everywhere, and sent up a billow of steam.

‘That is not what I said!’ bawled Moon, and stamped her foot. She waded straight into the pool, until the water flowed up over her knees, and began stomping about in a bristling fury. Glass broke under the water.

‘Lunavere,’ said Night warningly. ‘This is no time for your nonsense!’

Moon looked a little chastened. ‘Yes, Father,’ she said in a small voice, and climbed out of the pool again. She squatted over it, water streaming from her clothes, and touched the surface much more gently. ‘Come out,’ she crooned. ‘I will make you all better!’

A sheet of water rose up out of the pool, and hung there shivering as though it were cold.

‘Poor, wicked thing,’ crooned the Moon, and took it. ‘It is not really your fault, is it?’ In her hands it became a mirror again, though it was not the clear, shining, perfect thing it had seemed to be before. It looked what it was: cracked, tarnished and broken. Moon tenderly stroked it, and then it was not glass anymore, or anything solid at all. It was a puff of mist, or cloud, or something like, which Moon swirled around her little fingers and then passed along to the Skies.

‘Walkelin, you must help me!’ she panted, as she plunged her hands back into the water. ‘You must all help me!’

And they did, apparently understanding a process which went far beyond Margot’s comprehension. Walkelin took the swirl of cloudy something from Lunavere and shaped it in some way, frowning in concentration. When he had finished, he held a frosty cup overflowing with a dreamy blue fog. He paused, frowning at Margot.

‘Did you ask these good souls, Lunavere?’ he called.

The child was busy wrestling with another of her disobedient toys, but she looked up for long enough to flash an impudent grin at Walkelin.

The fact that this was followed by a guilty look at Margot did nothing to reassure.

‘There wasn’t time,’ she said, a touch defensively. ‘But who could possibly mind!’ And then she went back to her labours, and not another word could Walkelin draw from her.

The Skies looked at Margot. He was obviously troubled by something, but he said: ‘She is right, there is not time. I hope you will forgive us.’ And he gave her the cup.

Margot understood that she was supposed to drink it. She felt a strong foreboding as to the consequences of doing so, for Walkelin obviously expected that she might have cause to regret it. But the cup shimmered agreeably, a thing of such beauty that she could not help herself; she accepted it. And the dreamy stuff that was pouring from within was so mesmerising, she could not look away. It held all the colours of the skies, and the seas as well, and it smelled of everything Margot loved best.

She drank a sip, cautious. Nothing untoward happened; she was only filled with a delicious warmth which spread right through her, all the way to her toes. It left her feeling both energised and serene, which was a pleasant state, so she drank the rest.

The moment she was finished, Walkelin handed her another.

The same process was taking place around the circle. Night was taking portions of mirror-magic from Moon and fashioning them the way Walkelin did, though his concoctions roiled with shadow and gleamed with moonlight. He was giving them to Sylvaine, who received them in her left hand, while accepting cups full of drizzling mist from Rain in her right. She drank them down obediently, though her eyes when they met Margot’s were rather wide.

Florian was delighting in this peculiar business the way he delighted in everything. Sun was feeding him draught after draught of warm, sparkling sunshine, which he guzzled with gusto. He was on the other side of Rozebaiel, who had ignored Margot in his favour; she was stuffing him full of perfumed concoctions which smelled of such heaven that Margot felt a twinge of envy. But a cup of Rain’s fashioning was put into her hands, and then one each of Night’s and Sun’s, and at last one of rose’s, too, and she was contented.

Margot began to feel a little dizzy.

‘The problem, you see,’ said Walkelin softly, supporting her as she swayed, ‘is that far too much magic has seeped into this place. Potent magic! We Elements, as they call us, are manifesting faster than ever before, but still it has not helped. And the mirrors, they are drinking it all up as fast as they can.

‘Lunavere is a clever child, but there is only so much she can do. She will unwind all the magic, though it costs her dearly to do so, and Thandrian’s broken mirrors will be only glass again. But all that magic has to go somewhere, see?’

Margot began to feel that she did see, and her dizziness increased.

‘It would have been kinder to you all if we had been able to absorb it ourselves,’ said Walkelin, and helped her to lie down in the grass. ‘Yes, there, you had better rest a moment. We could not, though, could we? Already we overflow with the stuff; we could not take a jot more.’

‘But I could?’ said Margot faintly.

‘Oh, plenty. Try not to be afraid, for you shall soon feel well again.’ He bent over her, his old face creased with concern, and looked deep into her left eye, and then the right. ‘Autumn, I suspect,’ he said incomprehensibly, and then Margot, gratefully, passed out.