Carry On (47 page)

“Sir?” I call out. I don't know what else to call him—I've never heard anyone actually call the Mage “the Mage” to his face.

There's a crash like wood hitting wood. I can't tell where it's coming from, and I can't see anything. I start looking for a light switch. Some of the older Watford buildings don't have switches—you have to turn on the lights with magic. But my wand is in the car, lying on the passenger seat; it didn't fit in my coat pocket.

There's another crash. I stand very still and listen:

A metallic clanging. Someone shouting. Footsteps coming towards me—running. Panting.

Someone slams into me, pushing me aside and running past me. Then someone else catches me and pins me, my back against the wall. “I told you not to run!” he growls.

“You didn't,” I say. “You didn't tell me.”

He's holding my arms so tight, I think they might actually break.
“Let there be light!”
he says.

And there is.

I stare into the Mage's eyes. When he sees that it's me, he throws me aside.

“Where did she go?” he demands.

“Who, sir?”

He swings his wand around him.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
His teeth are bared. “You know I don't have time for this. The hour is near!” He slashes with his wand.
“Please!”
(Slash.)
“
Please!”
(Slash.)
“Please!”
(Slash.)
“Let me, let me, let me!”

I'm not sure what he's casting for, but the spell tugs at me, and I fall forward.

“You…,” the Mage says, noticing me again. His tunic is open, and he's sweating profusely. There's something blue smeared all over his chest. “What are you doing here, girl?”

“I came to tell you about Simon, sir.”

“Simon!” he says wildly. “Where's Simon?” He holds up his hand. “Wait—” The Mage looks like he wants to run away, like he's listening. I take a step away from him, but he grabs my arm. “Where is Simon?”

“I don't know, sir,” I say. “But I came to tell you—he was with Basilton Pitch. Last night. They told me they were going to find some numpties, but I think it's a trap! You have to help him!”

The words rush out of me. Everything I rehearsed in the car.

The Mage groans and holds his head, pacing now across the dark room, coming in and out of my sight. The light from his spell still hangs in the air around me. I take a step towards the door.

“Numpties now. Vampires.
Children
. I don't have time for this!” He growls, in frustration, and I hear something loud and heavy, like a bookcase, fall to the ground. Maybe he's distracted. I turn to run from the room, but the Mage is right there, grabbing me. “You'll have to do,” he says. “You'll have to do for now.”

My legs give out, and he drags me.

“You don't have much to give,” he says, “but I'll take it.”

BAZ

Bunce is biting her nails. She keeps trying to cast spells on the car, but I'm already driving it as fast as it can manage, and all her spells come out nervous and tight.

She's worried that the Mage will kill Simon once he finds out that Simon is causing the Humdrum.

I'm worried she'll figure out that I want to kill the Mage first.

PENELOPE

I don't trust Baz.

I only called him for help because he has a car.

I mean, I'd love to trust him—he's a brilliant magician and excellent company—but I can't.

I only trust four people: my parents, Micah, and Simon. I don't have any spare trust lying around, and if I did, I wouldn't give it to Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. He's cynical, manipulative, and utterly ruthless. All he cares about is getting what he wants and protecting his own people.

And there's something in the way he looks at Simon.…

I don't think Baz has set aside the last seven years of hostility. He's got a mad glint in his eyes for Simon. If he gets a chance to stab him in the back, I think he might take it.

I need to get Simon away from the Mage.

And then I just need to get him
away.

AGATHA

I should be scared. And I am—terrified.

But I'm also thinking,
Fucking of course. Of course this is how I'm going to die! Because somebody's looking for Simon and finds me instead. I'm going to be murdered by some power-hungry maniac who doesn't even know my name.

I don't try to fight. What's the point? But I go limp. And start to cry. Just because I knew I was going to die like this doesn't mean I'm ready for it. I wish I'd been nicer to my mum this morning. I wish I were wearing something other than leggings and Ugg boots. I always figured I'd make a more beautiful corpse.

The Mage hauls me to another room, where a trapdoor hangs open in the ceiling, light streaming down.

He points his wand at himself—
“Up, up, and away!”
You're not supposed to cast that spell on people; you can accidentally pull their lungs through their shoulders. But the spell works for him, and we start to float up through the door.

Then another spell—
“And we all fall down!”
—
knocks us both to the ground. Whoever casts it falls, too. I hear her land.

“No, Davy,” she says. “Let her go.”

And I think it must be Lucy. Here. To save me.

SIMON

I land on the Great Lawn at sunset and walk across the drawbridge. I see the Mage's Jeep, and Dr. Wellbelove's Volvo, and I wonder if they're here—or if they're off somewhere fighting. Actually fighting. Blades out, wands drawn. I don't even know where to look for the war if it isn't at Watford.

I'm headed for the Mage's office when I see the light at the top of the Chapel.

It's in a tower I've never seen lit before. I've never even noticed the stained glass there—it looks like a crown, or a cluster of stars.

As I'm looking, the windows blaze with light.

AGATHA

The Mage lurches up onto his hands and knees and starts casting spells.
“Please, please, please! Let me, let me, let me!”

“Hell hath no fury!”
the woman shouts. Fire pours from her staff and hits him in the chest. I've never seen anything like that, not even from Simon. The light from the fire finally illuminates her face—it's Ebb. The goatherd.

“Run, Agatha!” she says.

But the Mage has fallen on top of me. “I can't!” I sob.

The Mage raises his wand to cast at her, and I hit his hand as hard as I can. His wand goes flying, and he rolls away from me to get it.

“Run for your life!”
Ebb shouts, and I do. I scrabble to my feet and run from the room like there's a jet stream at my back.

I run through the smoke and darkness out into the light and snow, and then I keep running.

 

81

EBB

He would have killed that girl.

I don't suppose I had a choice but to come back.

THE MAGE

There's no time.

The Humdrum is devouring us.

And today's the day—today is a day that my magic might work. Holidays are auspicious, the solstice lingers.

Today is the day.

This is the hour.

If only Simon were here.…

I thought we'd done it—at great cost, yes—but I thought we'd done it, Lucy. We'd brought the Greatest Mage.

He is the greatest mage.

I hid him among the Normals, so that no one would know. So that no one would ask. I hid him until he was ready. Until he called me to him, just like every prophecy said he would!

I didn't know that he was broken.

I couldn't see that he was a cracked vessel.

Maybe it was too much power for a babe to hold—maybe that was my mistake.

If he were here, I could fix it. I have different spells now. (I'd been looking too far in the past; I should have realized that new power must come from new psalms.) I have a chance now, I could relieve him.

But Simon isn't here. And I can't wait for him. The Humdrum won't wait. The Pitches are on their way—

This woman will have to do. She's the brightest star in the Realm, next to Simon.

Our Simon.

I can take her power.

I just have to kill her first.

EBB

I don't suppose I ever had the choices I thought I did.

THE MAGE

She's all brute force and '90s clichés.

I've seen her weave spells like a master on the goats and the grounds. But in battle, Ebb's a cannon at a sword fight. No wonder Simon follows her around like a lost kid.

I'd thought about making her redundant over the years—what does Watford need with goats?—but she's powerful, and she protects the school when I'm away.

I wouldn't sacrifice her today if the fate of our world didn't hang in the balance.

EBB

I'm out of practice.

I was never
in
practice, with spells like this. I know ten spells to turn water into whisky, and I can bring the goats in with a turn of phrase. But I never saw the point of all this.

Even when Nico and me would get in a dust-up, I'd usually settle him with
Don't worry, be happy
or
Hush little baby
.

My only chance now is to overpower Davy.

I throw,
“Head over heels!”
and
“
Hit the floor!”
—spells I learned in pub brawls. The Mage does something I've never seen before—obeying the spells instead of letting them hit him.

He looks like a madman. His shirt is torn open, and he's covered in muck. Who knows what dark magic he's about—he still hasn't said what he wants from me. We're circling each other like two wolves.

“You're no match for me, Ebb,” he says, then shouts,
“Resistance is futile!”

I absorb the spell. I can do that sometimes, let a spell burn out in my magic.
“Bend over backwards!”
I shout back desperately, when I'm able.

The Mage swings back into the ground like he's made of rubber—then picks himself up, sighing.

THE MAGE

She caught me by surprise with that one, and my head is ringing. “I'm sorry, Ebb. But I don't have time for this. I need your power—the World of Mages needs your power.”

“I'm not a fighter,” she says.

“I know. But I am.” I step closer. “Make this sacrifice for your people.”

“What do you want from me, Davy?” She's scared. I'm sorry for that. A hank of blond hair covers one of her eyes.

“Your power. I need your power.”

“I'll give it to you. I don't want it.”

“It doesn't work that way,” I say. “I have to take it.”

She steels her jaw, holding her shepherd's staff between us.
“Helter skelter!”
she screams—and the room goes mad.

Floorboards peel up and whirl about us like ticker tape. Every ancient window shatters.

It's a child's spell. A tantrum. For upsetting board games and scattering marbles.

The power in this woman …

Wasted.

I stumble forward through the chaos and sink my blade in her chest.

EBB

I decide the Mage must be right, even though he talks like a madman.

I decide this is for the best. This is for a reason.

I hope that someone remembers to bring the nannies home.

 

82

SIMON

As I reach the door to the White Chapel, every window explodes. It sounds like the world is ending, and it's made of glass.

I hope I'm not too late.…

To stop whatever needs to be stopped.

To help whoever needs to be helped.

I run into the Chapel, behind the pulpit. Then I think about the Mage, and find my way to a room at the back, with a trapdoor hanging open in the ceiling. I flutter my wings—I still have wings—and catch the edge of the opening, hauling myself up.

It's a round room, ruined now, and the Mage is kneeling in the centre, his eyes closed and his shoulders heaving. There's someone lying on the ground below him—and for a breath, I think it might be Baz. But Baz went to the numpties; I know he did.

Whoever it is on the floor, it means it's all started.

I clear my throat and rest my hand on my hip. The blade appears without the incantation. It's like the whole world is just
reacting
to me. I don't even have to
think.

I don't have to think.

The Mage has his hands on the person's chest. There's a haze of deep magic around them, and he's chanting. It takes me a minute to recognize the song.…

“Easy come, easy go. Little high, little low.”

I step forward quietly; I don't want to interrupt him in the middle of a spell. Especially if he's trying to revive someone.

“Carry on, carry on,”
the Mage sings.

One more silent step, and I see that it's Ebb beneath him—I cry out, I can't help it.

The Mage's head turns, his lips still murmuring Queen lyrics.

“Simon!” he says, so startled that he pulls his hands away.

“Don't stop,” I say, falling on my knees. “Help her.”

“Simon,” the Mage says again.

Blood flows out of Ebb's chest.

“Help her!” I say. “She's dying!”

“I can't,” the Mage says. “But, Simon. You're here. I can still help you.”

He reaches for me, his hands wet with Ebb's blood. And I know I have to tell him now. I stand jerkily, pulling away from him.

The Mage picks up his blade—it's bloody, too—and stands with me. His head is split open above his ear, bleeding down his neck and shoulder.