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哈尔的移动城堡|Howl’s Moving Castle

第12章会见潘思德曼太太

属类： 双语小说 【分类】魔幻小说 -[作者: 黛安娜-W-琼斯] 阅读：[6053]
Chapter 12 In which Sophie becomes Howl’s old mother
《 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 》
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既然荒地女巫已经追上来了，苏菲觉得现在应该没什么必要去国王那里破坏豪尔的名声了，但是豪尔说，现在更需要如此做。“我得用尽所有的方法来躲开女巫，”他说：“我不要国王这时来插一脚。”

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所以，次日下午苏菲就穿上新衣，坐着等麦可穿好衣服和豪尔由浴室化妆出来。她觉得心情还好，就是整个人有点僵僵的。在等那两个男生的时候，她跟卡西法描述豪尔家人居住的那个奇异的国家，这样她就不会尽想着国王的事。

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卡西法深感兴趣。“我就知道他来自外国，”它说：“但这听起来好象是另一个世界似的。这女巫好厉害！居然把诅咒由那里送过来，真是有够厉害！我最钦佩这一类咒语了……利用本就存在的东西，将它变成咒语，你跟麦可那天在念的时候我就有点想到了，那个笨蛋豪尔跟她说了太多自己的事了。”

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苏菲凝视着卡西法瘦削的蓝脸。卡西法会钦佩这个咒语并不令她感到惊讶，它称豪尔为笨蛋也不令她惊奇。它长在言词上侮辱豪尔，但是她一直都不确定它是否真的憎恨豪尔，因为卡西法看起来很邪恶，所以很难看得出它真正的想法。

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卡西法转动它橘色的眼睛看着苏菲，说：“我也很害怕！如果女巫追上豪尔，我会跟豪尔一块遭殃。如果你不能赶在那之前将契约打破，我就无法帮助你了。”

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苏菲还来不及接口，豪尔就由浴室冲了出来，打扮得非常光鲜，房里充满传自他身上的玫瑰香水味。他大声叫唤麦可，麦可噼里啪啦地从楼上冲下来，苏菲拿起她忠实的拐杖，该准备出发了。

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“你看来既富有又庄严。”麦可跟她说。

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“她很上得了台面，”豪尔说：“那根难看的老拐杖是例外。”

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“有些人哪。”苏菲说：“是彻头彻尾的自我中心！这根拐杖跟我最配。我需要它给我精神支持。”

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豪尔两眼看着天花板，没有和她争论。

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他们就这样，很气派地走上金斯别利的街道，苏菲回头看看城堡的外观在这里变成什么样子。她看到的是一个很大的拱形出入口围绕在一个小小的黑门，城堡其它部分则是两栋由雕刻的石头砌成的房子，中间用纯白的石膏墙连接起来。

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“不用问了，”豪尔说：“不过是一间废弃不用的马厩罢了。走这边。”

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他们走过街道，穿着打扮看起来至少不会输给街上任何一位行人，街上行人其实不多。

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金斯别利的位置很南方，那天又非常炎热，像火炉一般，街道都冒出热气。苏菲发现年老还有一个坏处，在热天里特别觉得不对劲。那些精巧的建筑在她眼前晃呀晃的，她很懊恼！以为她很想好好看看这个城市，但是她只模糊地记得有金色的圆顶和建筑高大的房子。

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“对了，”豪尔说：“潘思德曼太太会称呼你為围龙太太。围龙是我在这儿使用的名字。”

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“为什么？”苏菲问。

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“伪装呀，”豪尔说：“而且，围龙是一个好名字，比建肯好多了。”

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“我比较习惯简单的名字。”苏菲边说，边随着转入一条狭窄而阴凉的街道。

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“总不能每个人都叫疯海特（注：源自《爱丽丝梦游仙境》中的疯狂帽商）吧！”豪尔说。

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潘思德曼太太的房子高大而优美，就在靠近街道尽头处，美丽的前门两旁摆设着种在盆里的橘树。来开门的是一位身穿黑色丝绒制服的年老仆役，他领他们进入一间很凉爽的黑白两色棋盘式的大理石铺就的大厅。麦可悄悄拭去脸上的汗水，一向厚颜无礼的豪尔像对待老朋友一般，和那位仆人寒暄、开玩笑。

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这位仆人将他们转叫给一位穿红色丝绒制服的侍童。当这位侍童慎重其事地领着他们走上光可鉴人的楼梯时，苏菲开始了解为什么豪尔会说在觐见国王之前，这里会是一个很好的预习场所了。她觉得自己简直已经是在王宫里了。那男童领他们进入一间会客室，苏菲觉得就是王宫也不可能比这个房间还优雅。房里所有的东西都是蓝色、金色和白色，小巧而且精致，但这些都比不上潘思德曼太太本人。

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她高高瘦瘦，身体挺得比值地坐在一张有金色刺绣的椅子上，一手僵硬地执杖支撑自己。手上戴着金色网状手套，拐杖头则由黄金打造而成。她身穿一袭暗金黄色丝质衣裳，样式僵硬而古板。头上戴一顶类似王冠的暗金头饰，以暗金色的带子在下巴上绑了一个大结，她的脸瘦削如老鹰。她是苏菲所见过最华美、也最令人敬畏的人。

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“啊，我亲爱的豪尔。”她说着，伸出一只戴有金网手套的手。

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豪尔弯腰亲吻手套，那显然是必须遵守的礼仪。他做得很优雅，但是若由背后看来，可就大穿帮了——他另一只手放在背后，拼命对麦可挥着。麦可终于明白他应该去门边和那个侍童站在一起才对。他迅速地倒退而行，心里很高兴能远离潘思德曼太太。

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“潘思德曼太太，请容我介绍我的老母亲给您认识。”豪尔边说边在背后对苏菲挥手，因为苏菲跟麦可一样，他只好也来上这么一招。

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“太好了，很高兴。”潘思德曼太太说着，对苏菲伸出她戴有金网手套的手。苏菲不确定潘思德曼太太的意思是不是要她亲吻手套，但她提不起勇气尝试，只是把手放在手套上，手套下的手感觉像是只苍老、冰冷的爪子。在接触过她的手后，苏菲很惊讶潘思德曼太太居然还活着。

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“请原谅我没有站起来，围龙太太。”潘思德曼太太说：“我健康状况不佳，三年前也因此被迫由教书工作上退休下来。两位都请坐。”

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苏菲克制着不要发抖，在潘思德曼太太对面刺绣美丽的椅子上很有威仪地坐下来，以拐杖支撑着，希望能跟潘思德曼太太一般优雅。

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豪尔则在旁边的椅子上优雅地坐下，看来气定神闲，十分自在。苏菲真羡慕他。

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“我今年八十六岁了，”潘思德曼太太说。“围龙太太，你贵庚多少啊？”

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“九十。”这是第一个闪进她脑袋里的大数字。

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“这么高寿了？”潘思德曼太太语气里带着一点淡淡的羡慕：“行动居然还这样灵活。”

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“就是啊，她可灵活着呢！”豪尔在旁边符合：“有时叫她停还停不下来。”潘思德曼太太斜凝了他一眼，那眼光令苏菲知道，她当老师时严格的程度绝对不输给安歌丽雅小姐。“我现在是在跟你妈妈说话。我敢打赌她跟我一样以你为傲，我们两个老妇人可说是共同把你塑造成型的。就某种意义而言，你是我们的共同成品。”

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“你难道不认为我自己也有那么一点功劳吗？”豪尔问道：“加了点自我风格什么的？”

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“是有那么一点点。但大都是我不喜欢的。”潘思德曼太太回答：“我想，你不会喜欢坐在这里听人家议论你吧？你带你的侍童去阳台坐，汉曲会拿冷饮给你们。去吧！”

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假如苏菲不是那么紧张的话，豪尔脸上的表情一定会让她笑出来，他显然一点都没预期到事情会变成这样，不过，他略略耸了一下肩膀后，还是站起来，投给苏菲一个略带警告的脸色，挥手要麦可在他之前走出房间。潘思德曼太太僵硬的身体稍微转过去，目送他们离开房间，然后她对侍童点点头，于是他也匆忙离开。在那之后，潘思德曼太太转过来面对苏菲，这令苏菲更加紧张。

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“我比较喜欢他黑头发的样子。”潘思德曼太太说：“那孩子有点往歪路上走。”

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“谁？麦可吗？”苏菲困惑地问。

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“不是那个侍者，”潘思德曼太太说：“他还没聪明到会让我担心的程度。围龙太太，我说的是豪尔。”

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“噢！”苏菲有些吃惊，不明白为何潘思德曼太太说的是‘在往歪路上走’。依她之见，豪尔老早就变坏了。

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“看他的外表！”潘思德曼太太一鼓作气地往下说：“还有，看看他那身衣服！”

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“他一向非常重视外表。”苏菲符合着，但奇怪自己语气为何如此温和。

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“是的，一向如此。我也很注重外表，我并不觉得这有什么不好。”潘思德曼太太说：“但是干吗去穿一件有迷咒的衣服？那是专用来吸引女孩的魅力迷咒。我得承认他弄得很巧妙！居然藏在衣服的缝合处里！连我这个训练有素的眼睛都很难侦察得出。这迷咒会令女孩子几乎无法拒绝他。这不是在往黑魔术的邪路上走是什么？围龙太太，我相信身为母亲的你一定很担心吧？”

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苏菲不安地想到那件灰色大红色的外套。她在缝布边时，一点也没注意到有什么特别之处。但是潘思德曼太太是魔法的专家，而她苏菲不过是个做衣服的专家。

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潘思德曼太太将两手放在手杖上头，上身倾斜，她那训练有素的锐利眼睛笔直地看入苏菲的双眼，苏菲越来越紧张不安。“我的生命已快走到尽头。”潘思德曼太太说：“已经有好一阵子了，我可以感觉到死亡在悄悄接近。”

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“不会的。”苏菲试着说些安慰的话。但是当潘思德曼太太那样盯着她时，说什么都好象不对劲。

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“不会错的，围龙太太。”潘思德曼太太说：“这也是为什么我急着跟你见面的原因。你知道，豪尔是我的关门弟子，同时也是我教过最出色的学生。在我将退休时，他由国外跑来。我训练好班哲明.苏利曼后，本以为我的教书生涯已经告一段落。班哲明，你比较熟悉的名字大概是苏利曼巫师吧？我帮他找了宫廷魔法师的工作，巧的是，他跟豪尔都来自同一个国家。豪尔出现时，我一看就知道他的想象力和能力都在苏利曼的两倍之上。虽然个性上有些缺点，但是瑕不遮瑜，我知道他是良善的力量。良善！但是围龙太太，他现在成了什么样了？”

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“是啊，为什么？”苏菲问。

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“他一定出过什么事。”潘思德曼太太仍然紧盯着苏菲，说：“我死前一定要把这个纠正过来。”

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“依你猜测，是出了什么错？”苏菲不安地问道。

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“我必须仰仗你来告诉我。”潘思德曼太太说：“我的感觉是，他走上跟荒地女巫一样的路了。我听说她原本不是恶人，当然这只是道听途说而已，因为她比我们两人年纪都大，她是靠着魔法维持青春不坠的，豪尔的天赋和她不相轩轾，看来越是天赋高的人，越难避免在一些特别危险的事物上自作聪明，结果就造成致命伤，往邪恶一路堕落下去。豪尔为什么会这样，你有没有任何概念？”

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卡西法的声音突然在苏菲脑中出现：“这契约长此以往对我们两人都很不好。”尽管外头的热风透过敞开的窗口吹进这个优雅的房间，她仍然打了一个寒战。“是的。”她说：“他跟他的火魔签了某种契约。”

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潘思德曼太太拄着拐杖的双手微颤了一下。“这就是了！围龙太太，你一定要把那个契约打破。”

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“但愿我知道该怎么做。”苏菲说。

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“我确信你的母性本能和你本身强大的魔法天赋，将会给你指出一个方法。”潘思德曼太太说：“围龙太太，或许你没注意到，但我一直在观察你……”

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“噢，我注意到了，潘思德曼太太。”苏菲说。

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“而我喜欢你的天赋。”潘思德曼太太说：“它能赋予你生命。比如你手中的拐杖吧，显然你跟它说过话，说多了它就变成一根外行人所说的魔杖。我想，要破除那个契约你应该不会太困难才是。”

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“但是，我需要知道契约的内容。”苏菲说：“是豪尔跟你说我是女巫的吗？因为如果他……”

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“他没有。你无需觉得不好意思。我的经验足以察知像这样的事情。”说完，她闭上双眼，那感觉就像强光突然被关掉一样，苏菲暗暗松一口气。“关于那种契约，”她说：“我并不清楚，也不想知道。”

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她的拐杖又动了一下，好象她在颤抖似的，嘴巴则抿成一条直线，好象无意中咬到辣椒一样。“不过我终于明白，”她说：“女巫发生了什么事。她跟火魔签约。随着时间过去，火魔控制了她。邪魔是不了解善恶的分野的，但是如果人类能给它们贵重的东西——只有人类独有的东西的话，它们就会接受贿赂而签下契约。经由契约，两者的生命都得以获得延长，而人类也可以获得火魔的法力，增长自己原有的功力。”潘思德曼太太再度张开眼睛。“关于这个话题，我只能说这么多了。你必须找出火魔由豪尔那里拿了什么。我得跟你说再见了，我需要休息一会儿。”

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然后就像魔法一样，也有可能是出于魔法，门打开，侍童走了进来，领苏菲出去。苏菲很高兴终于可以离开，她已经快尴尬到无地自容了。她转过头看到门阂起来，将潘思德曼太太僵硬挺直的身影关在门后。她想着：若自己真是豪尔的母亲的话，是不是还会怕潘思德曼太太怕得这么厉害？答案是‘会’。她喃喃地跟自己说：“真是蛮佩服豪尔的！可以忍受这样可怕的老师一天以上。”

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“什么事，夫人？”带路的侍童问她，以为她在跟他说话。

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“我说，下楼梯要走慢点，不然我跟不上。”苏菲说，她的膝盖发着抖。“你们年轻人就是横冲直撞的。”

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那侍童体贴地领着她慢慢走下光可鉴人的楼梯。走到一半时，苏菲逐渐由惊吓的情绪中恢复过来，开始思考潘思德曼太太方才说的话。她说苏菲是女巫，奇怪的事，苏菲很自然就接受了。因为这说明了为什么一些特定的帽子会热卖，珍法丽儿为何能嫁给某某男爵，也就说明了为什么荒地女巫会嫉妒她。苏菲似乎一直都知道这些事，但潜意识里她有可以逃避，觉得身为三个小孩中的老大，不应该有这样神奇的天赋礼物。乐蒂则较能理性地看待这些事情。

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接着她想到那件灰色与大红色的外套，一失神，差点跌下楼梯。是她把迷咒放上去的！她还记得自己是怎么跟那件衣服说的——缝了好迷死女孩子们！那衣服当然照做了。那天在果园里它吸引了乐蒂。昨天表面上装得若无其事，安歌丽雅小姐暗地里一定也手到它的影响。

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天哪！苏菲心中暗暗叫苦，我是帮凶！帮他伤了两倍的女孩子的心！明天一定得想办法把那件衣服由他身上剥下来。

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豪尔就穿着那套衣服跟麦可在凉爽的黑白相间客厅里等她。麦可看到苏菲缓慢地跟在侍童身后走下楼梯，担忧地以手肘轻推了豪尔一下。

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豪尔露出难过的表情。“你看起来糟透了！我看我们不要去见国王好了。我去跟国王解释你不能去的理由时，会顺便自我抹黑，我可以说是我邪恶的行为把你气病什么的。那也是实话，瞧你这个样子。”

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苏菲当然不想见国王，但是她想到卡西法说的话。如果国王命令豪尔到荒地去，而豪尔不幸地被女巫抓住，苏菲自己也会失去回复年轻的机会。因此她摇摇头，说：“见过潘思德曼太太后，印格利国国王看起来大概会跟普通人差不多了。”

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Sophie did not see much point in blackening Howl’s name to the King, now that the Witch had caught up with him. But Howl said it was more important than ever. “I shall need everything I’ve got just to escape the Witch,” he said. “I can’t have the King after me as well.”

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So the following afternoon Sophie put on her new clothes and sat feeling very fine, if rather stiff, waiting for Michael to get ready and for Howl to finish in the bathroom. While she waited, she told Calcifer about the strange country where Howl’s family lived. It took her mind off the King.

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Calcifer was very interested. “I knew he came from foreign parts,” he said. “But this sounds like another world. Clever of the Witch to send the curse in from there. Very clever all round. That’s magic I admire, using something that exists anyway and turning it round into a curse. I did wonder about it when you and Michael were reading it the other day. That fool Howl told her too much about himself.”

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Sophie gazed at Calcifer’s thin blue face. It did not surprise her to find Calcifer admired the curse, any more than it surprised her when he called Howl a fool. He was always insulting Howl. But she never could work out if Calcifer really hated Howl. Calcifer looked so evil anyway that it was hard to tell.

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Calcifer moved his orange eyes to look into Sophie’s. “I’m scared too,” he said. “I shall suffer with Howl if the Witch catches him. If you don’t break the contract before she does, I won’t be able to help you at all.”

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Before Sophie could ask more, Howl came dashing out of the bathroom looking his very finest, scenting the room with roses and yelling for Michael. Michael clattered downstairs in his new blue velvet. Sophie stood up and collected her trusty stick. It was time to go.

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“You look wonderfully rich and stately!” Michael said to her.

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“She does me credit,” said Howl. “apart from that awful old stick.”

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“Some people,” said Sophie, “are thoroughly self-centered. This stick goes with me. I need it for moral support.”

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Howl looked at the ceiling, but he did not argue.

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They took their stately way into the streets of Kingsbury. Sophie of course looked back to see what the castle was like here. She saw a big, arched gateway surrounding a small black door. The rest of the castle seemed to be a clank stretch of plastered wall between two carved stone houses.

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“Before you ask,” said Howl, “it’s really just a disused stable. This way.”

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They walked through the streets, looking at least as fine as any of the passerbys. Not that many people were about. Kingsbury was a long way south and it was a bakingly hot day there. The pavements shimmered. Sophie discovered another disadvantage to being old: you felt queer in hot weather. The elaborate buildings wavered in front of her eyes. She was annoyed, because she wanted to look at the place, but all she had was a dim impression of golden domes and tall houses.

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“By the way,” Howl said, “Mrs. Pentstemmon will call you Mrs. Pendragon. Pendragon’s the name I go under here.”

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“Whatever for?” said Sophie.

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“For disguise,” said Howl. “Pendragon’s a lovely name, much better than Jenkins.”

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“I get by quite well with a plain name,” Sophie said as they turned into a blessedly narrow, cool street.

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“We can’t all be Mad Hatters,” said Howl.

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Mrs. Pentstemmon’s house was gracious and tall, near the end of the narrow street. It had orange trees in tubs on either side of its handsome front door. This door was opened by an elderly footman in black velvet, who led them into a wonderfully cool black-and-white checkered marble hall, where Michael tried secretly to wipe sweat off his face. Howl, who always seemed to be cool, treated the footman as an old friend and made jokes to him.

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The footman passed them on to a page boy in red velvet. Sophie, as the boy led them ceremoniously up polished stairs, began to see why this made good practice for meeting the King. She felt as if she were in a palace already. When the boy ushered them into a shaded drawing room, she was sure even a palace could not be this elegant. Everything in the room was blue and gold and white, and small and fine. Mrs. Pentstemmon was finest of all. She was tall and thin, and she sat bolt upright in a blue-and-gold embroidered chair, supporting herself rigidly with one hand, in a gold-mesh mitten, on a gold-topped cane. She wore old-gold silk, in a very stiff and old-fashioned style, finished off with an old-gold headdress not unlike a crown, which tied in a large old-gold bow beneath her gaunt eagle face. She was the finest and most frightening lady Sophie had ever seen.

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“Ah, my dear Howell,” she said, holding out a gold-mesh mitten.

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Howl bent and kissed the mitten, as he was obviously supposed to. He did it very gracefully, but it was rather spoiled from the back view by Howl flapping his other hand furiously at Michael behind his back. Michael, a little too slowly, realized he was supposed to stand by the door beside the page boy. He backed there in a hurry, only too pleased to get as far away from Mrs. Pentstemmon as he could.

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“Mrs. Pentstemmon, allow me to present my old mother,” Howl said, waving his hand at Sophie. Since Sophie felt just like Michael, Howl had to flap his hand at her too.

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“Charmed. Delighted,” said Mrs. Pentstemmon, and she held her gold mitten out to Sophie. Sophie was not sure if Mrs. Pentstemmon meant her to kiss the mitten as well, but she could not bring herself to try. She laid her own hand on the mitten instead. The hand under it felt like an old, cold claw. After feeling it, Sophie was quite surprised that Mrs. Pentstemmon was alive. “Forgive my not standing up, Mrs. Pendragon,” Mrs. Pentstemmon said. “My health is not so good. It forced me to retire from teaching three years ago. Pray sit down, both of you.”

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Trying not to shake with nerves, Sophie sat grandly in the embroidered chair opposite Mrs. Pentstemmon’s, supporting herself on her stick in what she hoped was the same elegant way. Howl spread himself gracefully in a chair next to it. He looked quite at home, and Sophie envied him.

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“I am eighty-six,” Mrs. Pentstemmon announced. “How old are you, my dear Mrs. Pendragon?

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“Ninety,” Sophie said, that being the first high number that came into her head.

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“So old?” Mrs. Pentstemmon said with what may have been slight, stately envy. “How lucky you are to move so nimbly still.”

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“Oh, yes, she’s so wonderfully nimble,” Howl agreed, “that sometimes there’s no stopping her.”

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Mrs. Pentstemmon gave him a look which told Sophie she had been a teacher at least as fierce as Miss Angorian. “I am talking to your mother,” she said. “I daresay she is as proud of you as I am. We are two old ladies who both had a hand in forming you. You are, one might say, our joint creation.”

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“Don’t you think I did any of me myself, then?” Howl asked. ‘Put in just a few touches of my own?”

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“A few, and those not altogether to my liking,” Mrs. Pentstemmon replied. “But you will not wish to sit here and hear yourself being discussed. You will go down and sit on the terrace, taking your page boy with you, where Hunch will bring you both a cool drink. Go along.”

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If Sophie had not been so nervous herself, she might have laughed at the expression on Howl’s face. She had obviously not expected this to happen at all. But he got up, with only a light shrug, made a slight warning face at Sophie, and shooed Michael out of the room ahead of him. Mrs. Pentstemmon turned her rigid body very slightly to watch them go. Then she nodded at the page boy, who scuttled out of the room too. After that, Mrs. Pentstemmon turned herself back toward Sophie, and Sophie felt more nervous than ever.

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“I prefer him with black hair,” Mrs. Pentstemmon announced. “That boy is going to the bad.”

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“Who? Michael?” Sophie said, bewildered.

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“Not the servitor,” said Mrs. Pentstemmon. “I do not think he is clever enough to cause me concern. I am talking about Howell, Mrs. Pendragon.”

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“Oh,” said Sophie, wondering why Mrs. Pentstemmon only said “going.” Howl had surely arrived at the bad long ago.

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“Take his whole appearance,” Mrs. Pentstemmon said sweepingly. ‘Look at his clothes.”

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“He is always very careful about his appearance,” Sophie agreed, wondering why she was putting it so mildly.

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“And always was. I am careful about my appearance too, and I see not harm in that,” said Mrs. Pentstemmon. “But what call has he to be walking around in a charmed suit? It is a dazzling attraction charm, directed at ladies-very well done, I admit, and barely detectable even to my trained eyes, since it appears to have been darned into the seams-and one which will render him almost irresistible to ladies. This represents a downward trend into black arts which must surely cause you some motherly concern, Mrs. Pendragon.”

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Sophie thought uneasily about the gray-and-scarlet suit. She had darned the seams without noticing it had anything particular about it. But Mrs. Pentstemmon was an expert on magic, and Sophie was only an expert on clothes.

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Mrs. Pentstemmon put both gold mittens on top of her stick and canted her stiff body so that both her trained and piercing eyes stared into Sophie’s. Sophie felt more and more nervous and uneasy. “My life is nearly over,” Mrs. Pentstemmon announced. “I have felt death tiptoeing close for some time now.”

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“Oh, I’m sure that isn’t so,” Sophie said, trying to sound soothing. It was hard to sound like anything with Mrs. Pentstemmon staring at her like that.

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“I assure you it is so,” said Mrs. Pentstemmon. “This is why I was anxious to see you, Mrs. Pendragon. Howell, you see, was my last pupil and by far my best. I was about to retire when he came to me out of a foreign land. I thought my work was done when I trained Benjamin Sullivan-whom you probably know better as Wizard Suliman, rest his soul! -and procured him the post of Royal Magician. Oddly enough, he came from the same country as Howell. Then Howell came, and I saw at a glance that he had twice the imagination and twice the capabilities, and, though I admit he had some faults of character, I knew he was a force for good. Good, Mrs. Pendragon. But what is he now?”

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“What indeed?” Sophie said.

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“Something has happened to him,” Mrs. Pentstemmon said, still staring piercingly at Sophie. “And I am determined to put that right before I die.”

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“What do you think has happened?” Sophie asked uncomfortably.

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“I must rely on you to tell me that,” said Mrs. Pentstemmon. “My feeling is that he has gone the same way as the Witch of the Waste. They tell me she was not wicked once-though I have this only on hearsay, since she is older that either of us and keeps herself young by her arts. Howell has gifts in the same order as hers. It seems as if those of high ability cannot resist some extra, dangerous stroke of cleverness, which results in a fatal flaw and begins a slow decline to evil. Do you, by any chance, have a clue what it might be?”

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Calcifer’s voice came into Sophie’s mind, saying, “The contract isn’t doing either of us any good in the long run.” She felt a little chilly, in spite of the heat of the day blowing through the open windows of the shaded, elegant room. “Yes,” she said. “He’s made some sort of contract with his fire demon.”

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Mrs. Pentstemmon’s hands shook a little on her stick. “That will be it. You must break that contract, Mrs. Pendragon.”

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“I would if I knew how,” Sophie said.

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“Surely your own maternal feelings and your own strong magic gift will tell you how,” Mrs. Pentstemmon said. “I have been looking at you, Mrs. Pendragon, though you may not have noticed-”

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“Oh, I noticed, Mrs. Pentstemmon,” Sophie said.

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“-and I like your gift,” said Mrs. Pentstemmon. ‘It brings life to things, such as that stick in your hand, which you have evidently talked to, to the extent that it has become what the layman would call a magic wand. I think you would not find it too hard to break that a contract.”

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“Yes, but I need to know what the terms of it are,” Sophie said. “Did Howl tell you I was a witch, because if he did-”

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“He did not. There is no need to be coy. You can rely on my experience to know these things,” said Mrs. Pentstemmon. Then, to Sophie’s relief, she shut her eyes. It was like a strong light being turned off. “I do not now, nor do I wish to know about such contracts,” she said. Her cane wobbled again, as if she might be shuddering. Her mouth quirked into a line, suggesting she had unexpectedly bitten on a peppercorn. “But I now see,” she said, “what has happened to the Witch. She made a contract with a fire demon and, over the years, that demon has taken control of her. Demons do not understand good and evil. But they can be bribed into a contract, provided the human offers them something valuable, something only humans have. This prolongs the life of both human and demon, and the human gets the demon’s magic power to add to his or her own.” Mrs. Pentstemmon opened her eyes again. “That is all I can bear to say on the subject,” she said, “except to advise you to find out what that demon got. Now I must bid you farewell. I have to rest awhile.”

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And like magic, which it probably was, the door opened and the page boy came in to usher Sophie out of the room. Sophie was extremely glad to go. She was all but squirming with embarrassment by then. She looked back at Mrs. Pentstemmon’s rigid, upright form as the door closed and wondered if Mrs. Pentstemmon would have made her feel this bad if she had really and truly been Howl’s old mother. Sophie rather thought she would. “I take my hat off to Howl for standing her as a teacher for more than a day!” she murmured to herself.

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“Madam?” asked the page boy, thinking Sophie was talking to him.

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“I said go slowly down the stairs or I can’t keep up,” Sophie told him. Her knees were wobbling. “You young boys dash about so,” she said.

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The page boy took her slowly and considerately down the shiny stairs. Halfway down, Sophie recovered enough from Mrs. Pentstemmon’s personality to think of some of the things Mrs. Pentstemmon had actually said. She had said Sophie was a Witch. Oddly enough, Sophie accepted this without any trouble at all. That explained the popularity of certain hats, she thought. It explained Jane Farrier’s Count Whatsit. It possibly explained the jealously of the Witch of the Waste. It was as if Sophie had always known this. But she had thought it was not proper to have a magic gift because she was the eldest of three. Lettie had been far more sensible about such things.

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Then she thought of the gray-and-scarlet suit and nearly fell downstairs with dismay. She was the one who had put the charm on that. She could hear herself now, murmuring to it. “Built to pull in the girls!” she had told it. And of course it did. It had charmed Lettie that day in the orchard. Yesterday, somewhat disguised, it must have had its effect on Miss Angorian too.

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Oh, dear! Sophie thought. I’ve gone and doubled the number of hearts he’ll have broken! I must get that suit off him somehow!

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Howl, in that same suit, was waiting in the cool black-and-white hall with Michael. Michael nudged Howl in a worried way as Sophie came slowly down the stairs behind the page boy. Howl looked saddened. “You seem a bit ragged,” he said. “I think we’d better skip seeing the King. I’ll go blacken my own name when I make your excuses. I can say my wicked ways have made you ill. That could be true, from the look of you.”

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Sophie certainly did not wish to see the King. But she thought of what Calcifer had said. If the King commanded Howl to go into the Waste and the Witch caught him, Sophie’s own chance of being young again would have gone too.

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She shook her head. “After Mrs. Pentstemmon,” she said, “the King of Ingary will seem just like an ordinary person.”

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道德经
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周易
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