The Magician's Dream (Oona Crate Mystery: book 3) (16 page)

Oona shook her head, confused. “But voting day isn’t until tomorrow. How can she be in the lead when voting hasn’t even begun yet?”

“Because,” Deacon said, “it is just a poll taken by the newspaper. They ask a small portion of the population who they are going to vote for by sending reporters door to door to ask. It is not definitive.”

“But this is wonderful news,” Oona said. Her eyes were already scanning the first few paragraphs in the article. “It seems that Tobias Fink’s plan to disrupt yesterday’s rally backfired when word about the riot spread throughout the street. And now look, it’s even on the front of the
Dark Street Tribune
.”

Deacon, who was a much faster reader than Oona, scanned the article as well. After a moment he said: “But Tobias Fink denies having anything to do with the riot or the protesters.”

“Of course he does, Deacon,” Oona said. “But he’s obviously lying. We saw those men carrying signs that said ‘Fink for Council.’”

Deacon continued to read. “Fink is accusing Molly Morgana Moon of paying the thugs herself. He says that the whole thing was staged.”

“To what end?” Oona asked.

“To gain attention,” Deacon said. “For publicity.”

Oona shook her head disbelievingly.

“Hey, you!” said the bearded man behind the newspaper stand. “You gonna pay for that or what?”

“Oh, sorry,” Oona said, and put the paper back where she had found it. “There’ll be a copy at home, I’m sure.”

“Then off with you,” the bearded man said with a shooing gesture.

Oona slipped through the crowd and headed back toward the Mortenstine Building, only to find yet another crowd forming around Samuligan and the carriage. The pedestrians had all stopped in their tracks and were watching in amazement as the faerie juggled what appeared to be three heavy granite tombstones, tossing one over the other as if they weighed no more than a set of juggling balls.

For some reason, it was the sight of the tombstones, rather than the fact that the faerie was juggling them, that caused all of the tiny hairs to stand up along her arms. To Oona, the bizarre scene was more ominous than amazing.

“What’s he doing?” she asked nervously.

“Perhaps he’s preparing for this afternoon’s battle test,” Deacon replied.

She swallowed what felt like a lump of coal in her throat. “Yes, I was afraid you would say that.”

She watched the tombstones flip around and around as more spectators stopped and pointed, mesmerized by the feat. To Oona, the stones meant only one thing. The next test had to do with death . . . something that Oona had already had too much of in her life. She sighed heavily. “I don’t like this at all.”

The Fourth Test

By midafternoon an overcast sheet of clouds had settled over the street, cooling the air considerably and obscuring the sun. Oona sat inside the Pendulum House library, looking out a window and wondering if it was going to rain.

“That’s a fancy magnifying glass, so it is,” said a voice.

Oona looked down at her magnifying glass, which presently lay on top of the copy of
Apprenticeship Magica
, and then looked up to find Mrs. Carlyle dusting a nearby shelf.

“Oh, yes, I suppose it is,” Oona said, picking the magnifying glass up by its wooden handle and examining the golden rim. “This was my father’s. It’s sort of become my wand, really. It works well for me.”

“Better than Oswald’s wand?” Deacon asked inquisitively from his place on the table.

Oona ran her thumb over the smooth gold ring, considering the question thoughtfully. “I suppose Oswald’s wand does work better as a conductor. It’s more precise, if that’s what you mean. But this feels more natural. More . . . me, if that makes any sense. Anyway, Uncle Alexander lets me use Oswald’s wand only during the battle tests.”

“As is only right,” Deacon said. “Red Martin would still love to get his hands on it.”

“Red Martin?” asked Mrs. Carlyle. “You mean the owner of the Nightshade Casino?”

“The very same,” Oona said.

“Isn’t he supposedly some sort of”—Mrs. Carlyle’s voice dropped to a whisper, as if Red Martin himself might be standing near by, like a tiger ready to pounce—“crime lord,” she finished.

“He is; no
supposedly
about it,” Oona said. “He is the head of the Dark Street criminal underground. The newspaper doesn’t print much about it, but I suspect that is because the editors are either afraid of him . . . or under his pay.”

“That is simple speculation,” Deacon put in before relenting: “Though it does seem likely.”

Mrs. Carlyle frowned. “Can he do magic?”

She seemed quite disturbed by the idea.

Oona shook her head. “No. He can’t . . . but he could get someone else who
can
do magic to use the wand for him.”

“What, to rob people?” Mrs. Carlyle asked.

“That’s one possibility,” Oona said. “But what he really wants the wand for is to use it as a key. You see, Oswald used the wand to close the Glass Gates at the end of the Great Faerie War. And the wand is rumored to be the only way to open the Glass Gates again.”

Mrs. Carlyle’s eyes went wide. “Now why on Dark Street would he want to do that? I thought the faerie queen threatened to kill all humans. If those gates ever open . . .”

She trailed off.

“Red Martin thinks that if he has a key, he can more easily smuggle his illegal products across the Faerie border,” Deacon said shortly. “Now, if you don’t mind, Mrs. Carlyle . . . Miss Crate is preparing for her most challenging test yet and needs to concentrate.”

Mrs. Carlyle looked as if she were going to ask yet another question. Clearly, the maid, like most people on Dark Street, was unaware that Red Martin knew of a secret way to pass from Dark Street to the Land of Faerie. And while it was rumored that Red Martin himself was centuries old, very few people knew that this was actually true, and that he was able to accomplish this by smearing a magical plant known as turlock root on his skin, keeping him from ever growing old. The truth was, Red Martin had been smuggling his nefarious items from one world to the other for hundreds of years.

Seeing Deacon’s stern posture, however, Mrs. Carlyle closed her mouth and once again resumed her dusting.

Oona was tempted to explain what she had learned from Red Martin himself . . . that his secret method of sneaking from one world to the other was a very slow and arduous task, and that Red Martin wished to use the wand—the only known key to the Glass Gates—to speed up his importing process.

But Oona knew that Deacon was right, and now was not the time to go into such things. She needed to concentrate. Looking down at the open book, she raised her magnifying glass to read the tiny print. “According to the
Apprenticeship Magica
, today’s test is the next to last, and my ability to balance more than one task will be challenged.”

“Balance more than one task, huh?” asked Mrs. Carlyle. “I prefer to do one thing at a time, I do.”

“Then it’s a good thing that Miss Crate is taking the test today and not you,” Deacon said briskly.

“There’s no need to be rude, Deacon,” Oona said.

“It’s all right,” the maid said. “Your bird’s right, even if he is a bit pretentious about it. I should leave you to it.”

Unable to help herself, Oona let out a sharp laugh.

“Pretentious, am I?” Deacon said as all the feathers stood up along the back of his head.

“No, Deacon,” Oona said apologetically, though there was still a hint of laughter in her voice, “we know you have the right of it. In fact, it’s time to meet Samuligan and Uncle Alexander.”

“Is the test happening here again, in the house?” Mrs. Carlyle asked, now sounding slightly nervous.

“I believe it is taking place outside the grounds, in the street,” Deacon said.

“In the street?” said Mrs. Carlyle. “That sounds dangerous.”

Oona thought of the three tombstones Samuligan had been juggling and said, rather absently: “‘Deadly’ is more like it.”

“What?” the maid asked in alarm.

Oona shook her head and made her way toward the library doors. “Oh nothing.”

“Good luck,” the maid called after her.

Oona thanked her before venturing down the hall and out the front door.

She and Deacon met the Wizard and Samuligan just outside the Pendulum House front gates. The Wizard and the faerie servant sat at a round table, which had been placed in the middle of the sidewalk. The table had been set for tea.

Oona was surprised not only to find the oddity of the table on the sidewalk, but also to see Samuligan sitting in a chair. It surprised her because, though she had seen Samuligan take his seat upon the top of the carriage countless times, she had never seen him sit down in a proper chair in all of her years living at Pendulum House.

Overhead, the sky was darkening, and Oona felt quite certain rain was on its way. Because of the impending weather, the street was fairly deserted.

The Wizard gestured toward the open chair across from him. Oona took her seat as Samuligan filled her cup and pushed it in front of her.

“Why are we taking our tea outside when it is about to rain?” Oona asked.

The Wizard looked up. “I suppose it is. Well, perhaps we should just get on with it. Drink up.” All at once he drained his own cup and wiped at his mouth with his sleeve.

Oona glowered at the strangeness of her uncle’s behavior, but she did as she was told. She had only just begun to drink when her uncle began: “Welcome to your penultimate test, Oona. The next to last. The complexity of today’s challenge may seem simple at first, but it will get more difficult the longer it goes on. And how long it goes on is entirely up to you. Good luck.”

Oona set her cup down, confused. “Is that all? Aren’t you going to tell me what I’m supposed to do?”

The Wizard stood and looked to Samuligan. Samuligan, too, rose from his chair before reaching his long faerie fingers into his pocket and bringing out a thick metal linked chain. He tossed one end of the chain into the air, and, like a snake rising from a snake charmer’s basket, it rose higher and higher until the end disappeared into the clouds.

“Well, that’s quite extraordinary,” Oona said.

But Samuligan paid her no mind. He laced his fingers together and cracked his bony knuckles before leaping onto the chain. The chain held his weight quite easily, and to Oona’s surprise the faerie quickly climbed up the silvery links and disappeared into the ominous-looking clouds above. A moment later the chain was pulled up behind him.

“Now what?” Oona asked, but her uncle did not answer. He only stared at her expectantly, watching, waiting.

“I see,” Oona said. “Not speaking, are you? Well, what about you, Deacon? What do you make of this?”

But as Deacon opened his beak to respond, the Wizard raised a hand and the only thing that came out of Deacon was a low raven caw. Uncle Alexander made another motion and Deacon flew from Oona’s shoulder to the Wizard’s.

Oona frowned, feeling somewhat irritated and yet excited at the same time. Here was a puzzle, and Oona loved nothing more than something to put her mind to solving.

“So, that’s it, is it?” she said, and stood from the table. “I’m to figure out what to do on my own. Fine.”

She did not know the spell for conjuring a chain out of thin air, but she was fairly certain that Pendulum House would know it, or something similar.

“Profundus magicus!”

The moment she linked to the house, the answer was there . . . the power was hers. As if she always carried it with her, Oona reached into her dress pocket and brought out the end of a piece of rope. The curious thing was that though Oona often carried a small ball of string in her pocket, along with other handy objects such as a bit of metal wire, paper and pencil, and a needle stuck in a bit of cork, she certainly had never carried around a length of rope so long as this. The house must have put it there.

She tossed the rope into the air, and as it uncoiled from her pocket, the rope weaved back and forth, tying knots and looping around itself. It ascended into the sky, creating a sturdy rope ladder, which climbed so high that, like Samuligan’s chain, it, too, disappeared into the clouds above.

Oona smiled, pleased with herself at how quickly she had figured it out, and then all at once felt her stomach take a turn when she realized that she was most likely supposed to climb up the ladder after the faerie.

“Well, no sense thinking about it,” she said aloud before placing one foot upon the rope ladder and grabbing hold of a higher rung with her right hand. The moment she placed her weight upon the ladder, however, the entire thing came falling back out of the sky and fell into a huge tangled heap in the street. Oona lost her balance and fell back against the gate. Her head struck one of the iron rods and the entire gate rattled on its hinges.

Rubbing at the back of her head, she pushed herself back upright and scowled at the rope . . . except the rope was now gone. What had gone wrong? She looked to her uncle, hoping he might point out what her flaw had been, but he only watched her, running his hand absently through his long gray beard, and Oona remembered that he was keeping quiet.

Clearly, the rope had disappeared when she had struck her head and lost her concentration. That meant that the enchanted rope existed only when she was concentrating on it.

Balancing more than one task
, she thought, remembering what she had read about this particular test in the
Apprenticeship Magica
.
I’m being tested on how many things I can do at one time.

She thought of what her uncle had said just before the test began: how the test would seem simple at first but would get more difficult as it went along. Creating the rope ladder had seemed simple enough, but climbing the ladder was, for some reason, another matter.

She looked toward the sky and scratched thoughtfully at her head. That was when she felt the first drops of rain upon her cheeks. She did her best to ignore them, along with the fact that if she didn’t figure out what she was doing wrong quickly, then she would soon find herself getting wet indeed.

Why would the house let me conjure the rope but not let me climb it?
she wondered, and then it occurred to her that perhaps the reason for this was because the rope ladder was not connected to something at the top that could hold her weight. The clouds were not solid, so there was no help there.

I could try to create a wooden ladder
, she considered, but then realized that, same as the rope ladder, with nothing to support it at the top, it would only fall over. She also understood that the house had given the rope ladder to her because it was the right magic to use; her link with the house was still strong, and she understood this to be true.

Perhaps what I need to do is create a second spell that attaches the ladder to something in the clouds . . . or makes the clouds solid.

This seemed reasonable enough, though it meant concentrating on two spells at one time, something she had never done.

“Balancing more than one task,” she said aloud, and once more reached into her pocket. Just as before, she brought out the end of a thick piece of rope and tossed it into the air. This time she was more aware of the magic working through her. Some of what was happening was her own magic, and some of it was the ancient magic from the house. The two intertwined, working together so perfectly that it was nearly impossible to tell where her magic stopped and the house’s magic began.

The rope once more weaved its web of square-shaped patterns into the sky, disappearing into the ever-darkening clouds.

Okay
, she thought, wondering how to begin the next step.
I need another spell to hold this steady.