The Magician's Tower (12 page)

By the following morning, however, Oona was no closer to solving the clue than when she'd first received it. The
memory of Isadora's voice continued to pester her: “Easy as one, two, three.”

Oona's eyes were so dry and red that they felt as if they might catch fire. More than half the night she'd spent lying awake in bed, and yet it had not been the clue on the ribbon that had kept her from sleep so much as the problem of the missing punchbowl.

At the breakfast table, she found her uncle hurriedly stuffing a biscuit into his mouth and looking highly agitated.

“I'm afraid I'm going to need your assistance,” the Wizard said. “I know you have the contest to think about, but there has been another incident concerning the throttler's silk problem in the garment district.” He held up a note with charred edges, indicating that he had been sent a note via flame. “I just received word that a swath of the faerie fabric has come to life and tied itself around a merchant and his wife. It is refusing to let them go. I know that I relieved you of your apprentice duties during the contest, but this silk business has gotten dreadfully out of control.”

Oona looked forlornly at the clue in her hand and sighed. “Of course, Uncle. But the contest starts at noon, and I still haven't figured out this clue.”

The Wizard glanced at the clock over the door. “It is eight o'clock now. That should leave plenty of time. Samuligan, ready the carriage.”

Samuligan snapped his fingers, silvery sparks shooting from their tips. He spun dramatically around and then disappeared through the servant's entrance on his way to the stable.

Wonderful
, Oona thought gloomily.
Just what I need: more distractions
.

It was a selfish thought, she knew. Her uncle would not have asked for her help unless he truly needed it, and it sounded as if this enchanted silk might be quite dangerous. Helping the merchant and his wife was surely more urgent than solving the contest clue, yet Oona began to wonder if she would ever have time to figure it out.

It's my own fault for not spending more time on it yesterday
, she thought reproachfully, and then quickly grabbed a muffin before heading out the front door.

Several minutes later she climbed into the carriage beside her uncle, unable to escape the nagging thought that Isadora already had the answer to the clue, and that she had learned the answer from the stolen punchbowl. There was simply no other explanation.

The carriage clacked over the cobbled street, taking them past Oswald Park and then the shopping district, where candlestick trees lined the sidewalks glowing faintly in the morning mist. A large sign outside the Dark Street theater read:

“Look, Oona,” the Wizard said. “A new show. Looks fascinating.”

“Hmm?” she intoned, looking vaguely at the sign. “Oh, yes, I suppose. But tell me, Uncle, why do you think all of this throttler's silk is showing up? Where is it coming from?”

“That is just the thing,” the Wizard replied. “There is only one place it
could
come from.”

“Faerie,” Oona said, and suddenly her stomach felt as if it had been twisted into a tight knot. “And there is only one person I can think of who knows how to get through the Glass Gates.”

Deacon shook his head grimly on her shoulder. “Red Martin.”

Oona and the Wizard nodded in agreement, and the three of them fell decidedly quiet for the remainder of the trip. It wasn't until Samuligan pulled the carriage to the side of the road that the Wizard broke the silence.

“Oh, dear, this is no good at all!” he exclaimed, throwing open the compartment door and leaping to the curb. It took Oona a moment to realize what had gotten him so excited.

Through the window she could make out what appeared to be a man and a woman tied to a lamppost outside a fabric store. What was even more peculiar was how the bloodred fabric that kept them in place appeared to be slithering out of the store and wrapping itself around the couple much like a giant serpent.

“Quickly, Oona, Samuligan!” the Wizard barked at them as he raced to the victims' aid.

“Oh, my,” Deacon said as Oona hopped to the sidewalk and started after her uncle. Samuligan was close behind.

A cluster of horrified spectators stood nearby, all shaking their heads and pointing at the bizarre scene, and as Oona neared the trapped couple, she could make out the terrified expressions on their faces, both of which were beginning to turn blue. The silk was strangling them, and Oona realized that there was no time to waste.

“What do we do?” she asked, feeling frantic. This was the first time since her encounter with the stolen mind daggers that she had come upon such a deadly mystical object, and presently she went blank as to what needed to happen.

Luckily the Wizard was there to take charge. He drew
a wooden wand from his robe, aimed it at the silk snaking out of the store across the sidewalk, and shouted:
“Dimittere!”

This, Oona knew, was the spell used to release one thing from another, such as an apple from a tree, but the spell did not seem to have the same effect on the silk. A jet of white light shot from the tip of the Wizard's wand and collided with the cloth in a burst of sparks. But instead of releasing the victims from the silk's constricting grip, the spell only made the enchanted material more ferocious than ever.

The free end of the fabric suddenly slithered out of the store like an eel and attempted to wrap itself around the Wizard's foot. He leapt back just in time, but before he could jump again, the silk darted up and snatched his wand from his hand. It smacked him in the head with it several times and then tossed it across the street.

“Well, that was certainly rude,” the Wizard said.

The fabric reared back and spread open, taking on the shape of an enormous red cobra preparing to strike. Oona's heart dropped. She still did not know what to do. But in the next instant Samuligan leapt between the Wizard and the striking fabric.

The silk threw itself at the faerie, its bloodred surface rippling like a storm-battered flag, and suddenly the two of them, the faerie and the fabric, were locked together in a
brutal wrestling match on the sidewalk. At first it seemed that Samuligan was getting the best of the murderous material, but then just as quickly the game changed and the silk managed to wrap itself around the faerie's neck and mouth, preventing him from uttering a spell.

Like the other witnesses, Oona was terrified. Samuligan the Fay was the most powerful magical being she had ever encountered. If this throttler's silk was able to overpower him, she hadn't a clue how she and her uncle were supposed to stop it.

“Oona,” the Wizard shouted at her as he rushed across the street to retrieve his wand. “Try
Duratus frigidam
!”

Oona jumped in surprise.
Duratus frigidam
was a freezing spell, one that she had not practiced in over three years. It took superb concentration, even with her extraordinary natural powers, and she wondered briefly if she was up to the task. What if something went wrong? Would it be her fault that these people died? And what about Samuligan?

Unfortunately, there was no time to waver. Oona raised her hands dramatically above her head, preparing to cast the spell, but the Wizard called to her from across the street: “You'll need a directional conductor!”

The words to the spell halted on her lips and her heart skipped a beat as she realized how closely she had just come to causing another tragedy.

Of course
, she chided herself.
Duratus frigidam requires a directional conductor
, which she knew was merely a fancy way of saying: a wand, or a staff, or something to channel the spell in a specific direction.

Without a wand it was possible she might freeze not only the fabric, but also Samuligan and the man and woman tied to the lamppost, not to mention the bystanders and possibly even herself. Such was the nature of conductor spells.

Oona did not own a wand, however, but being a Natural Magician certainly had its advantages. Three months ago she had conducted the Lights of Wonder spell through a broken chair leg. Most any narrow object would do, and presently Oona reached into a dress pocket and removed her father's magnifying glass. Quieting her mind as best she could, she aimed the wooden handle at the fabric on the sidewalk.

“Duratus frigidam!”
she cried, and all at once her head felt as if it had just been plunged into a tub of ice-cold water.

Deacon shot from her shoulder as if he had been stung by a bee. Oona clinched her teeth against the discomfort as a steady stream of dartlike snowflakes shot from the end of the handle and began attaching themselves to the middle of the silk.

Instantly, the flakes began to multiply across the
material, extending in both directions. The fabric began to freeze solid.

“Duratus frigidam!”
the Wizard shouted, and Oona saw that her uncle stood beside her, wand in hand, and was adding his own spell to hers. It occurred to her then that perhaps her uncle was not such a mediocre magician after all, despite what everyone seemed to think.

The freezing process quickened, and a moment later Samuligan tore free of the silk's grip, causing the entire strip of fabric to shatter like glass. Oona and the Wizard simultaneously released their spells as the man and woman toppled from the lamppost to the sidewalk, gasping desperately for breath.

“Well, now,” said the Wizard. “That seems to have done the trick.”

Deacon returned to Oona's shoulder as she slowly let out her breath and her head returned to its normal temperature. Tattered bits of frozen red cloth blew about in the breeze as the Wizard approached the man and woman.

“Are you quite all right?” he asked, extending a hand to help the woman to her feet.

“I … I think so,” she said. She threw a chilling glance toward the man, whom Samuligan was helping to stand up straight.

Unlike the disheveled appearance of the man and woman, Oona noted, Samuligan did not appear any the
worse for wear from his tussle with the deadly cloth, not so much as a wrinkled jacket or a fold in his cowboy hat.

The woman continued to stare coldly at the man. “I would be much better if my husband here could manage to stay away from the Nightshade Casino.”

“I told you, dear,” the man replied, rubbing at his neck, “I stopped going several weeks ago.”

The woman folded her arms and tutted. “Yes, but not before you went into so much debt you couldn't repay it all.”

“Oh, dear,” said the Wizard. He looked understandingly at the man. “You are indebted to Red Martin?”

The man nodded and bowed his head. Oona could tell he felt ashamed of himself, and it seemed equally clear that the Wizard was sympathetic to his situation. The Wizard had unknowingly found himself in debt to Red Martin's Nightshade Corporation, having been duped by his scoundrel of a lawyer, Mr. Ravensmith, and was still trying to get out of the financial mess.

The wife did not appear so sympathetic. She narrowed her eyes at her husband, and said: “Of course it's Red Martin behind this. Who else could it be?”

The Wizard glanced at the storefront. “Is this your fabric shop?”

“It is,” said the woman. She pointed to the sign, which read:
DODGER FABRICS
. “I am Mrs. Elizabeth Dodger, and
this is my husband, Orris.” Mrs. Dodger's temper all at once melted, and she threw her arms around the Wizard. “We are so grateful you came along. Oh, thank you, thank you!”

The woman released the Wizard and then threw herself at Oona, wrapping her in her arms. Oona could not help but feel slightly uncomfortable as the woman began to sob into her shoulder. Unable to think of anything else to do, Oona patted her gingerly on the back.

At last Mrs. Dodger pulled away, and as she turned back to the Wizard, Samuligan opened his arms wide, displaying his frighteningly wide grin with too many teeth, as if anticipating his own hug. Mrs. Dodger hesitated briefly—Oona thought she saw the woman shiver slightly—and then acted as if the faerie servant was not there.

For an instant Oona felt bad for Samuligan, but then he gave her a wink, and she realized that he had only been playing with the woman. It would, of course, have been unfitting for the lady to be seen hugging a servant, which Oona felt was simply ridiculous, considering that Samuligan had been trying to save the woman's life. But still, that was the way things were, and people rarely went against such social rules.

Mr. Dodger cleared his throat. “We received the silk with a new shipment today. Someone must have placed
it in with the other fabrics, because we certainly did not order any red silk.”

The Wizard nodded, his aged eyes looking concerned. “If you have read the paper, then you will know that you are not the only ones who have received the silk. We'll need to do a search of the premises to make sure there isn't any more.”

Both Mr. and Mrs. Dodger's eyebrows shot up, and the two of them looked jerkily around in alarm. Despite her angry words toward her husband, Mrs. Dodger clutched nervously at Mr. Dodger's arm.

“But if you will excuse me a moment,” the Wizard added, “I would like a minute with my apprentice.” He led Oona toward the carriage, leaving the anxious-looking Dodgers clutching at each other in front of the store. The Wizard beamed. “That was incredible control you showed back there, Oona dear.”

Oona allowed herself a smile. “I did manage it all right, didn't I?”

“You did indeed. And for that, I couldn't be prouder,” he said.

“I almost forgot the conductor, though,” she admitted, still feeling guilty for having almost cast
Duratus frigidam
freehanded.