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哈尔的移动城堡|Howl’s Moving Castle

第9章解不开的咒语

属类： 双语小说 【分类】魔幻小说 -[作者: 黛安娜-W-琼斯] 阅读：[6081]
Chapter 9 In which Michael has trouble with a spell
《 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 》
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敲门的是船长，他终于来拿他的风咒语了。他因为久等而非常生气，跟麦可说：“如果你害我错过潮流，我非跟你的魔法师抱怨不可！我不喜欢懒惰的小孩！”

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依苏菲看来，麦可对他实在客气了。但是苏菲因为心情低落，没有过去干预。船长离开后，麦可到工作台去为他的咒语伤脑筋，苏菲则静静坐着修补她的长袜。她就只有这么一双袜子，而她瘦骨嶙峋的脚上面磨出几个大洞，灰衣服也磨损、肮脏了。她问自己，敢不敢将豪尔那套弄坏的蓝银色衣服伤最没有污渍的地方剪下来，给自己缝一条新裙子？结果还是不敢。

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“苏菲，”麦可笔记写到第十一页时，突然抬起头来问她：“你有几个孙甥女？”

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苏菲一直担心麦可会开始问她问题。“孩子，等你到我这个年纪，”她说：“你就会数不清了。她们看来都一个样。如果我记得没错的话，那两个乐蒂好象是双胞胎。”

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“不会吧，”麦可的回答很令她惊讶。“上福尔丁那位才没有我的乐蒂漂亮！”他把第十一页撕掉，开始写第十二页。“当菲菲克丝太太说她知道豪尔是什么样子时，我实在想笑。你呢？”

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“我没有，”苏菲回答。这对乐蒂的感觉毫无帮助。她想到乐蒂在苹果树下那灿烂、充满爱意的神情，便无助蒂问道：“有没有可能豪尔这次时真心的？”

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卡西法对着烟囱猛喷了一口绿色火花。

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“就怕你会这么想！”麦可说：“那样只不过跟菲菲克丝太太一样，自欺欺人罢了。”

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“你怎么那么确定？”苏菲问他。

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卡西法和麦可交换了一眼。麦可问道：“他今早有没有忘记在浴室里少待上一个钟头？”

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“何止！他待了两个钟头。”卡西法说：“还在脸上洒咒语呢！有够虚荣的！”

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“对，就是这样。”麦可说：“等哪一天豪尔忘了做这些事，我才会相信他是真的恋爱了！”

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苏菲想道豪尔单膝跪在果园里，尽其所能要表现出英俊潇洒的样子，她知道他们说的是对的。她很想道浴室里，把那些美容咒语一股脑全扫道马桶里去，但她不敢真这么做。她只是拐着脚将那件蓝银色的衣服拿下来，一整天剩下的时间她都在剪那件衣服——由上面剪下小小的蓝色三角形，以便缝制一条拼布风格的裙子。

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麦可走过来，好心蒂拍拍她的肩膀，然后将手里十七页的笔记全扔给卡西法。“你知道，每个人最后都会没事。”他说。

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这时他们终于看出麦可遇到困难，解不出咒语。他把笔记丢掉，由烟囱上刮下一些煤灰。

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卡西法扭转身，困惑地看着他。麦可由梁上垂挂下来的诸多袋子中的一个，取出一根干枯的根茎，放在刮下来的煤灰里。然后，在一番长思之后，他将门把转道蓝色向下，消失到避难港里，二十分钟后才回来，手里拿着一个由螺纹的大海贝，把它跟煤灰以及根茎放在一起。然后他撕了一堆纸放上去。他把这些都堆到骷髅前，站着对它们吹气，吹得整个工作台上都是飞扬的煤炭和纸屑。

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“你想，他是在干什么？”卡西法问苏菲。

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麦可停止吹气，开始以研钵何杵将所有的东西，包括纸屑捣碎，边捣边充满期待地看着骷髅。但是，什么也没发生！于是，他由袋子和罐子里取来不同的材料尝试。

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“这样去跟踪豪尔，让我很不快乐。”当他试做道第三组实验时，他大声地说：“他对女人虽然不专情，对我却是好的没话说。当我这个没人要的孤儿坐在他避难港的房门口时，是他收留我的。”

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“你怎会由那样的遭遇？”苏菲边剪下另一个三角形边问。

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“我妈妈去世，而我爸爸在暴风雨里淹死了。”麦可说：“当事以至此时，没有人会要你的。我必须离开原来的家，因为我缴不其房租。我试着露宿街头，但是人们一再将我由他们的门口或船上赶走，后来我想到唯一一个人们不敢干预的地方。豪尔那时才出道不久，以‘建肯魔法师’为名号，但是每个人都谣传说他屋里住有恶魔，所以我就去睡在他家门口，这样睡了几夜。一天早上，豪尔开门要出去买面包，我就这样跌进门里。他说他去买吃的东西时，我可以待在他家。我进去，看到卡西法。因为我从不曾见过邪魔，所以就开始跟卡西法说话。

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“你们都谈些什么？”苏菲问。心里想道：卡西法是不是也要求他帮它解除契约？

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“他跟我诉说他的遭遇，还对我掉眼泪。对不对啊？”卡西法说：“他大概想都没想过，我也有我的麻烦的。”

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“我不认为你有，你只是爱抱怨罢了。”麦可说：“那天早上你真的对我很好，连豪尔都蛮感动的。不过你也知道他的个性，他没说我可以留下来，只是没要我走路。所以我就尽量找空帮忙，让自己变得有用。帮他管帐，以免他钱一到手就花光光等。”

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魔咒‘呼’的一声，小小爆了一下。麦可把骷髅上的煤灰掸掉，叹着气，以不同的材料重做实验。苏菲开始将那些蓝色的小三角形拼凑起来，围绕在她脚边的地上。

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“刚开始时我常常犯一些很笨的错误，”麦可继续说：“但是豪尔总是很有耐性。我想我已经过了那个青涩的阶段了，而且我想我在理财方面是帮上了点忙。豪尔老爱买昂贵的衣服，他说没有人愿意雇佣看起来好象无法在这行业赚到钱的巫师。”

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“还不是他自己喜欢漂亮衣服！”卡西法橘色的眼睛意味深长地看着正忙着缝纫的苏菲。

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“这套衣服坏了。”苏菲说。

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“令人生气的不只是衣服而已。”麦可说：“你记不记得那个冬天？我们只剩下一根燃木，豪尔买回来的却是那个骷髅头和那把愚蠢的吉他。我实在气坏了！他说什么来看？说因为它们看起来很棒。”

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“后来燃木的事怎么解决？”苏菲问。

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“豪尔跟一个欠他钱的人拗来的。”麦可说：“至少，他是这么说的。我希望他说的是实话。然后，我们只有海草可吃。豪尔说海草是健康食品。”

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“是好东西，”卡西法喃喃地说：“干干的、脆脆的。”

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“我讨厌海草！”麦可说，心不在焉地看着他磨出来的那碗东西。“我不懂……应该有七样东西的，难道指的其实是七个步骤？还是先用五芒星来试试看好了。”他将碗房在地上，以粉笔在周围画出一个五芒星。粉爆开来，将苏菲的三角形布料吹到壁炉里。麦可咒骂了一声，匆忙擦掉五芒星。

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“苏菲，”他说：“我被这个咒语卡死了。你想，你能不能帮得上忙？”

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好象是拿功课请教老奶奶似的，苏菲想着。她将三角形布料拣回来，再度耐心地将它们在地上摆好后，说：“拿来我看看。”她说得很谨慎：“你知道的，我对咒语一无所知。”

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麦可急急将一张奇怪的、微微发光的纸放进她手里。即使以咒语而言，它看起来也很不寻常。上面写着粗体字，但字带点灰色，而且有点模糊。字的边边像撤退的暴风雨云雾般，包围着一圈灰灰的朦胧。“你有什么想法？”麦可问。

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苏菲将它念了出来：

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抓住落下的星辰，

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由曼佗罗花的花根孕育出小孩，

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告诉我过去的岁月都去了哪里？

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或者，是谁劈裂了魔鬼的脚？

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教我如何听取美人鱼的歌声，

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或是免叫嫉妒刺伤的方法，

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并且找出

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什么样的风，

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可以吹着诚实的心灵向前。

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决定这段话的意涵，

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然后自己写第出第二段。

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苏菲完全被搞糊涂了！这和她以往偷看到的咒语完全不同。她努力地看了两遍，麦可在旁边热切地解释，却一点也帮不上忙。“豪尔曾跟我说过，高阶魔法都附有令人困惑的题目。起先，我以为每一行都有一个难题。我在煤烟里加上火花当做是落下的陨石，还贝当做是美人鱼的歌声。我又想，我也可以算是个孩子，所以就去取了一根曼佗罗花根下来。我还从历书上抄了一堆过去发生的事，但是关于这一点我实在不太确定，也许就是这里出了错？那个避免刺伤的会不会是蹄叶？我刚刚都没想到……总之，没有一件起作用。”

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“我一点也不觉得奇怪，”苏菲说：“在我看来，这像是一连串办不到的事的清单。”

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但是麦可不听。如果这些事都办不到的话，就没人能使用这个咒语了。“何况，”他说：“我对自己偷偷跟踪豪尔的事觉得很惭愧，所以我一定要把这个咒语搞懂，好做为补偿。”

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“好吧，”苏菲说：“那就由‘决定这段话的意涵’开始吧！如果‘决定’是咒语的一部分，这应该能让咒语开始生效。”

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但是麦可不表同意。“不对，”他说：“这种要开始做以后，才会渐渐生出力量来。最后一句说的就是这个，要‘自己写出第二段’时才会开始生效。这种咒语的难度很高，我们必须从前面开始解才行。”

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苏菲将三角形布料再度集成一堆，同时建议道：“我们来问卡西法好了。卡西法，是谁……”

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但是麦可再度阻止她。“不行！别吵它。我想卡西法是咒语迷题的一部分，你看它这里写‘教我’，这里又写‘告诉我’。起先我以为是要教那个骷髅，但是那不生效。所以，一定是指卡西法。”

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“如果我说什么你都要反对的话，你就自己去解。”苏菲说：“卡西法至少会知道是谁劈裂了它的脚吧？”

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卡西法闻言，稍稍挺起身来：“我是没有脚的。而且我是邪魔，不是魔鬼。”说完马上又退回木头里去。苏菲和麦可继续讨论咒语的期间，还可以听到它在那儿‘有够无聊’、‘有够无聊’地劈啪作响。苏菲被这个咒语迷住了，她将蓝色的三角形布料收起来，拿过纸笔，开始像麦可那样大量地做笔记。那天剩下的时间，她和麦可两人就这样盯着远处，咬着笔杆，想到什么就丢一句话给对方。

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以下是苏菲写的一页笔记：

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大蒜能防止嫉妒吗？

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我可以拿纸剪一个星星然后让它掉下去吧？

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告诉的对象可以是豪尔吗？

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豪尔显然会喜欢美人鱼胜过卡西法。

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我不认为豪尔的心灵是诚实的。卡西法的呢？

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过去的岁月到底都到哪儿去了？

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干燥的根必须长出果实吗？

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这表示根必须种下去吗？

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就种在羊蹄叶旁边？

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还是贝壳里？

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分蹄趾，牛羊和魔鬼都是，但马不是。

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还是说，要在马蹄上穿一颗蒜头？

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风？味道？七里格靴带起的风吗？

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豪尔邪恶吗？

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是七里格靴里的分蹄趾，还是穿靴子的美人鱼？

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苏菲绞尽脑汁地想着、写着，麦可同样拼命，还不停地问道：“这风会不会是指一种滑车？一个诚实的人被绞死？不过，那样就变成黑色魔法了。”

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“吃晚饭吧！”苏菲说。

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他们吃着面包和乳酪，眼睛仍旧望着远处。最后苏菲说：“麦可，我看我们别再猜了。先试着照做看看吧！要抓住跌落的星星最好的地点是哪里？山岗上吗？”

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“避难港沼泽区比较平坦，”麦可回道。“但是，真的可以吗？流星的速度非常快。”

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“没问题，我们可以穿七里格靴。”苏菲指出。

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麦可跳起来，神情轻松又愉快。“你说得没错。”他说：“我们去试试看。”

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这次苏菲谨慎地带着拐杖和披肩，因为外面已经很暗了。当麦可将门把往下转到蓝色时，突然发生两件事——工作台上骷髅的牙齿开始嘎嘎作响，而卡西法的热焰直冲上烟囱，叫道：“我不要你们去！”

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麦可安慰它说：“我们一下就回来了。”

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他们来到避难港街上。那是个明亮而温暖的夜晚。但是，他们刚走到街道尽头时，麦可突然想其苏菲那天早上还病着，开始担心夜晚的空气会对她有不好的影响。苏菲告诉他别傻了，勇敢地拄杖而行，直到远离有灯火的窗口，夜变得很宽广、潮湿而且寒冷。沼泽区充塞着盐及泥土味，海洋闪着光，发出柔和的窸窣声，向后退去。苏菲不用眼睛即可感觉到眼前是一片绵延不绝的平地，一路伸展过去。眼睛所能见到的，是低低的、带状的蓝雾以及沼泽水池发出的朦胧微光，一层层地直到天际。期于举目所能见的部分则全都是天空，比平日所见还大。银河看起来像是由沼泽升起的一带雾气，明亮的星光透过雾气照射出来。

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麦可和苏菲站好脚步，面前各放着一只七里格靴，等着天上的星星开始移动。

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半小时后，苏菲必须假装她没有冷得发抖，以免麦可担心。

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又过半小时，他担忧地说：“那个曼佗罗话的根应该怎么解释？”

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“先解决这一个，再来担心下一个。”苏菲咬着牙回答，以免他们开始打颤。

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又过了一会儿，麦可说：“苏菲，你先回去。这毕竟是我的咒语。”

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苏菲正要开口说好，天上的一颗星星突然由天空脱离，拖着白色的光线迅速掉落下来。

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“那儿有一个！”她改口尖叫。

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麦可把脚放到靴里，飞身追去。苏菲握紧拐杖，一秒钟后也跟过去。滋！砰！在深入沼泽，充满雾气与空茫、四处皆是微微发光的水坑的地方，苏菲将拐杖插入地上，得以稳稳地着地站立。

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麦可的靴子就掉在她身边，黑黑的一坨，人则不知在哪儿，暗夜里只听到他的脚步声在前头啪嚓啪嚓，疯狂地跑来跑去。

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而流星就在那儿！苏菲可以看到一个小小的、往下降的、火焰状的东西，就在那个黑色移动物体，麦可的上头。那明亮的形体慢慢地降下来，看来麦可似乎可以抓到它。

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苏菲将鞋子由七里格靴拉出来。“拐杖，来！”她叫道：“带我过去！”她以最快的速度拄杖拐行，跳过草丛，涉过水坑，眼睛一路紧盯着那个小小的白光。

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当她赶上时，麦可正放轻脚步，悄悄地跟在星星后头，伸出两手准备抓它，身体的轮廓被星光映照

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得十分清楚。星星漂浮在与麦可的手平行的地方，就在他手前头一两步之遥，它回头紧张地看着他。真是诡异！苏菲想着。它由光构成，在麦可身边映出一环光圈，照着草丛、芦苇和黑色的水坑。它同时有一双大大的、充满焦虑的眼睛，向后紧张地窥探麦可的动向，还有一个小小的、尖尖的脸。

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苏菲的到达吓了它一大跳，不规则地俯冲了一下，以一种尖锐、劈啪的声音问道：“干嘛？你想干嘛？”

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苏菲想跟麦可说：算了，它吓坏了。但她已经喘得说不出话来。

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“我只想抓住你，”麦可跟它解释：“我不会伤害你的。”

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“不行、不行！”它绝望地劈啪作响：“那是不对的，我应该要死的。”

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“但是如果你让我抓住你的话，我就可以救你一命。”麦可温和地跟它说。

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“不要！”星星大叫：“我宁可死去！”它往下一沉，躲开麦可的手。麦可扑上去，但它的动作快过麦可，迅速向最近的水坑俯冲过去，黑色的水坑霎时泼渐成一股白色的火焰，接着是一阵小小的，逐渐消失的嘶嘶声。当苏菲蹒跚着赶到时，麦可站在水坑边，正看着黑暗水底里一个小小圆块状的物体散发出最后一丝光芒。

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“真令人伤心！”苏菲说。

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麦可叹了口气。“是啊，我真是很可怜它。我们回家吧！我实在受够了这个咒语！”

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他们花了二十分钟才找到靴子，苏菲觉得能找到实在是奇迹。

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“你知道吗？”当他们拖着沉重的脚步，颓丧地穿越避难港黑暗的街道时，麦可说：“我知道我是绝对搞不清楚这个咒语了，它超过我的程度太多，我必须问豪尔。我讨厌屈服，但是既然现在乐蒂已经决定接受豪尔了，他应该会有心情跟我好好解释。”

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这样的说法对苏菲一点帮助也没有。

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It was the sea captain, come for his wind spell at last, and not at all pleased at having to wait. “If I miss my tide, boy,” he said to Michael, “I shall have a word with the Sorcerer about you. I don’t like lazy boys.”

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Michael, in Sophie’s opinion, was far too polite to him, but she was feeling too dejected to interfere. When the captain had gone, Michael went to the bench to frown over his spell again and Sophie sat silently mending her stockings. She had only one pair and her knobby feet had worn huge holes in them. Her gray dress by this time was frayed and dirty. She wondered whether she dared cut the least-stained bits out of Howl’s ruined blue-and-silver suit to make herself a new skirt with. But she did not quite dare.

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“Sophie,” Michael said, looking up from his eleventh page of notes, “how many nieces have you?”

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Sophie had been afraid Michael would start asking questions. “When you get to my age, my lad, “ she said, “you lose count. They all look so alike. Those two Letties could be twins, to my mind.”

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“Oh, no, not really,” Michael said to her surprise. “The niece in Upper Folding isn’t as pretty as my Lettie.” He tore up the eleventh page and made a twelfth. “I’m glad Howl didn’t meet my Lettie,” he said. He began on his thirteenth page and tore that up too. “I wanted to laugh when that Mrs. Fairfax said she knew who Howl was, didn’t you?”

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“No,” said Sophie. It had made no difference to Lettie’s feelings. She thought of Lettie’s bright, adoring face under the apple blossom. “I suppose there’s no chance,” she asked hopelessly, “that Howl could be properly in love this time?”

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Calcifer snorted green sparks up the chimney.

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“I was afraid you’d start thinking like that,” Michael said. “But you’d be deceiving yourself, just like Mrs. Fairfax.”

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“How do you know?” said Sophie.

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Calcifer and Michael exchanged glances. “Did he forget to spend at least an hour in the bathroom this morning?” Michael asked.

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“He was in there two hours,” said Calcifer, “putting spells on his face. Vain fool!”

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“There you are, then,” said Michael. “The day Howl forgets to do that will be the day I believe he’s really in love and not before.”

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Sophie thought of Howl on one knee in the orchard, posing to look as handsome as possible, and she knew they were right. She thought of going to the bathroom and tipping all Howl’s beauty spells down the toilet. But she did not quite dare. Instead, she hobbled up and fetched the blue-and-silver suit, which she spent the rest of the day cutting little blue triangles out of in order to make a patchwork sort of skirt.

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Michael patted her shoulder kindly as he came to throw all seventeen pages of his notes onto Calcifer. “Everyone gets over things in the end, you know,” he said.

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By this time it was clear Michael was having trouble with his spell. He gave up notes and scraped some soot off the chimney. Calcifer craned round to watch him in a mystified way. Michael took a withered root from one of the bags hanging on the beams and put it in the soot. Then, after much thought, he turned the doorknob blue-down and vanished for twenty minutes into Porthaven. He came back with a large, whorled seashell and put that with the root and the soot. After that he tore up pages and pages of paper and put those in too. He put the lot on front of the human skull and stood blowing on it, so that soot and bits of paper whirled all over the bench.

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“What’s he doing, do you think?” Calcifer asked Sophie.

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Michael gave up blowing and started mashing everything, paper and all, with a pestle and mortar, looking at the skull expectantly from time to time. Nothing happened, so he tried different ingredients from bags and jars.

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“I feel bad about spying on Howl,” he announced as he pounded a third set of ingredients to death in a bowl. “He may be fickle to females, but he’s been awfully good to me. He took me in when I was just an unwanted orphan sitting on his doorstep in Porthaven.”

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“How did that come about?” asked Sophie as she snipped put another blue triangle.

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“My mother died and my father got drowned in a storm,” Michael said. “And nobody wants you when that happens. I had to leave our house because I couldn’t pay rent, and I tried to live in the streets but people kept turning me off doorsteps and out of boats until the only place I could think of to go was somewhere everyone was too scared to interfere with. Howl had just started up in a small way as Sorcerer Jenkin then. But everyone said his house had devils in it, so I slept on his doorstep for a couple of nights until Howl opened the door one morning on his way to buy bread and I fell inside. So he said I could wait indoors while he got something to eat. I went in, and there was Calcifer, and I started talking to him because I’d never met a demon before.”

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“What did you talk about?” said Sophie, wondering if Calcifer had asked Michael to break his contract too.

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“He told me his troubles and dripped on me. Didn’t you?” said Calcifer. “It didn’t seem to occur to him that I might have troubles as well.”

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“I don’t think you have. You just grumble a lot,” Michael said. “You were quite nice to me that morning, and I think Howl was impressed. But you know how he is. He didn’t tell me I could stay. But he just didn’t tell me to go. So I started being useful wherever I could, like looking after money so that he didn’t spend it all as soon as he’d got it, and so on.”

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The spell gave a sort of a whuff then and exploded mildly. Michael brushed soot off the skull, sighing, and tried new ingredients. Sophie began making a patchwork of blue triangles round her feet on the floor.

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“I did make lots of stupid mistakes when I first started,” Michael went on. “Howl was awfully nice about it. I thought I’d got over that now. And I think I do help with money. Howl buys such expensive clothes. He says no one’s going to employ a wizard who looks as if he can’t make money at the trade.”

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“That’s just because he likes clothes,” said Calcifer. His orange eyes watched Sophie at work rather meaningly.

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“This suit was spoiled,” Sophie said.

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“It isn’t just clothes,” Michael said. “Remember last winter when we were down to your last log and Howl went off and bought the skull and that stupid guitar? I was really annoyed with him. He said they looked good.”

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“What did you do about logs?” Sophie asked.

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“Howl conjured some from someone who owed him money,” Michael said. “At least, he said they did, and I just hoped he was telling the truth. And we ate seaweed. Howl says it’s good for you.”

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“Nice stuff,” murmured Calcifer. “Dry and crackly.”

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“I hate it,” said Michael staring abstractedly at his bowl of pounded stuff. “I don’t know-there should be seven ingredients, unless it’s seven processes, but let’s try it in a pentacle anyway.” He put the bowl on the floor and chalked a sort of five-pointed star round it.

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The powder exploded with a force that blew Sophie’s triangles into the hearth. Michael swore and hurriedly rubbed out the chalk.

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“Sophie,” he said, “I’m stuck in this spell. You don’t think you could possibly help me, do you?”

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Just like someone bringing their homework to their granny, Sophie thought, collecting triangles and patiently laying them out again. “Let’s have a look,” she said cautiously. “I don’t know anything about magic, you know.”

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Michael eagerly thrust a strange, slightly shiny paper into her hand. It looked unusual, even for a spell. It was printed in bold letters, but they were slightly gray and blurred, and there were gray blurs, like retreating stormclouds, round all the edges. “See what you think,” said Michael.

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Sophie read:

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“Go and catch a falling star,

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Get with child a mandrake root,

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Tell me where all the past year’s are,

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Or who cleft the Devil’s foot.

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Teach me to hear the mermaids singing,

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Or to keep off envy’s stinging, And find What wind Serves to advance an honest mind.

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Decide what this is about Write a second verse yourself” It puzzled Sophie exceedingly. It was not quite like any of the spells she had snooped at before. She plowed through it twice, not really helped by Michael eagerly explaining as she tried to read. “You know Howl told me that advanced spells have a puzzle in them? Well, I decided at first that every line was meant to be a puzzle. I used soot with sparks in it for the falling star, and a seashell for the mermaids singing. And I thought I might count as a child, so I got a mandrake root down, and I wrote out a list of past years from the almanacs, but I wasn’t sure about that-maybe that’s where I went wrong-and could the thing that stops stinging be dock leaf? I hadn’t thought of that before-anyway, none of it works!”

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“I’m not surprised,” said Sophie. “It looks to me like a set of impossible things to do.”

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But Michael was not having that. If the things were impossible, he pointed out reasonably, no one would ever be able to do the spell. “And,” he added, “I’m so ashamed of spying on Howl that I want to make up for it by getting this spell right.”

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“Very well,” said Sophie. “Let’s start with ‘Decide what this is all about.’ That ought to start things moving, if deciding is part of the spell anyway.”

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But Michael was not having that either. “No,” he said. “It’s the sort of spell that reveals itself as you do it. That’s what the last line means. When you write the second half, saying what the spell means, that makes it work. Those kind are very advanced. We have to crack the first bit first.”

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Sophie collected her blue triangles into a pile again. “Let’s ask Calcifer,” she suggested. “Calcifer, who-”

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But this was yet another thing Michael did not let her do. “No, be quiet. I think Calcifer’s part of the spell. Look at the way it says ‘Tell me’ and ‘Teach me.’ I thought at first it meant teach the skull, but that didn’t work, so it must be Calcifer.”

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“You can do it by yourself, if you sit on everything I have to say!” Sophie said. “Anyway, surely Calcifer must know who cleft his own foot!”

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Calcifer flared up a little at this. “I haven’t got any feet. I’m a demon, not a devil.” Saying which, he retreated right under his logs, where he could be heard chinking about, muttering, “Lot of nonsense!” all the rest of the time Sophie and Michael were discussing the spell. By this time the puzzle had got a grip on Sophie. She packed away her blue triangles, fetched pen and paper, and started making notes in the same sort of quantities that Michael had. For the rest of the day she and Michael sat staring into the distance, nibbling quills and throwing out suggestions at one another.

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An average page of Sophie’s notes read:

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Does garlic keep off envy? I could cut a star out of paper and drop it. Could we tell it to Howl? Howl would like mermaids better than Calcifer. Do not think Howl’s mind is honest. Is Calcifer’s? Where are the past years anyway? Does it mean one of those dry roots must bear fruit? Plant it? Next to dock leaf? In a seashell? Cloven hoof, most things but horses. Shoe a horse with a clove of garlic? Wind? Smell? Wind of seven-league boots? Is Howl devil? Cloven toes in seven-league boots? Mermaids in boots?

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As Sophie wrote this, Michael asked equally desperately, “Could the

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‘wind’ be some sort of pulley? An honest man being hanged? That’s black magic, though.”

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“Let’s have supper,” said Sophie.

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They ate bread and cheese, still staring into the distance. At last Sophie said, “Michael, for goodness’ sake, let’s give up guessing and try just doing what it says. Where’s the best place to catch a falling star? Out on the hills?”

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“Porthaven Marshes are flatter,” Michael said. “Can we? Shooting stars go awfully fast.”

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“So can we, in seven-league boots,” Sophie pointed out.

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Michael sprang up, full of relief and delight. “I think you’ve got it!” he said, scrambling for the boots. “Let’s go and try.”

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They went out into the street in Porthaven. It was a bright, balmy night. As soon as they had reached the end of the street, however, Michael remembered that Sophie had been ill that morning and began worrying about the effect of night air on her health. Sophie told him not to be silly. She stumped gamely along with her stick until they left the lighted windows behind and the night became wide and damp and chilly. The marshes smelled of salt and earth. The sea glittered and softly swished to the rear. Sophie could feel, more than see, the miles and miles of flatness stretching away in front of them. What she could see were bands of low bluish mist and pale glimmers of marshy pools, over and over again, until they built into a pale line where the sky started. The sky was everywhere else, huger still. The Milky Way looked like a band of mist risen from the marshes, and the keen stars twinkled through it.

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Michael and Sophie stood, each with a boot ready on the ground in front of them, waiting for one of the stars to move.

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After about an hour Sophie had to pretend she was not shivering, for fear of worrying Michael.

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Half an hour later Michael said, “May is not the right time of the year. August or November is best.”

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Half an hour after that, he said in a worried way, “What do we do about the mandrake root?”

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“Let’s see to this part before we worry about that,” Sophie said, biting her teeth together while she spoke, for fear they would chatter.

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Some time later Michael said, “You go home, Sophie. It’s my spell, after all.”

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Sophie had her mouth open to say that this was a very good idea, when one of the stars came unstuck from the firmament and darted in a white streak down the sky. “There’s one!” Sophie shrieked instead.

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Michael thumped his foot into his boot and was off. Sophie braced herself with her stick and was off a second later. Zip! Squash. Down far out in the marshes with mist and emptiness and dull-glimmering pools in all directions. Sophie stabbed her stick into the ground and just managed to stand still. Michael’s boot was a dark blot standing just beside her. Michael himself was a sploshy sound of madly running feet somewhere ahead.

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And there was the falling star. Sophie could see it, a little white descending flame shape a few yards beyond the dark movements that were Michael. The bright shape was coming down slowly now, and it looked as if Michael might catch it.

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Sophie dragged her shoe out of the boot. “Come on, stick!” she crowed. “Get me there!” And she set off at top hobble, leaping across tussocks and staggering through pools, with her eyes on that little white light.

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By the time she caught up, Michael was stalking the star with soft steps, both arms out to catch it. Sophie could see him outlined against the star’s light. The star was drifting level with Michael’s hands and only a step or so beyond. It was looking back at him nervously. How odd! Sophie thought. It was made of light, it lit up a white ring of grass and reeds and black pools round Michael, and yet it had big, anxious eyes peering backward at Michael, and a small, pointed face.

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Sophie’s arrival frightened it. It gave an erratic swoop and cried out in a shrill, crackling voice, “What is it? What do you want?”

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Sophie tried to say to Michael, Do stop-it’s terrified! But she had no breath left to speak with.

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“I only want to catch you,” Michael explained. “I won’t hurt you.”

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“No! No!” the star crackled desperately. “That’s wrong! I’m supposed to die!”

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“But I could save you if you’d let me catch you,” Michael told it gently.

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“No!” cried the star. “I’d rather die!” It dived away from Michael’s fingers. Michael plunged for it, but it was too quick for him. It swooped for the nearest marsh pool, and the black water leaped into a blaze of whiteness for just an instant. Then there was a small, dying sizzle. When Sophie hobbled over, Michael was standing watching the last light fade out of a little round lump under the dark water.

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“That was sad,” Sophie said.

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Michael sighed. “Yes. My heart sort of went out to it. Let’s go home. I’m sick of this spell.”

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It took them twenty minutes to find the boots. Sophie thought it was a miracle they found them at all.

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“You know,” Michael said, as they trudged dejectedly through the dark streets of Porthaven, “I can tell I’ll never be able to do this spell. It’s too advanced for me. I shall have to ask Howl. I hate giving in, but at least I’ll get some sense out of Howl now this Lettie Hatter’s given in to him.”

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This did not cheer Sophie up at all.

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