The Magician's Tower (10 page)

While this realization brought with it a sense of relief that Isadora might not have witnessed Oona's use of magic, it also brought a panicky comprehension that she had fallen behind in the race. She glanced around in time to see Isadora and Roderick hurrying along the landing toward the exit, Roderick in the lead.

Heart pounding in her chest, Oona grabbed hold of the lamp and swung across to the landing. Up ahead, Roderick stopped. He opened the door and then stepped aside, extending his hand.

“Ladies first,” he said, allowing Isadora to exit ahead of him.

“How very chivalrous,” Isadora said, and stepped through the open doorway, where Oona could see the architect himself outside on a platform, waiting to congratulate today's winner. Isadora received something that looked like a blue piece of ribbon as Roderick stepped through the door after her to receive a pat on the back, and what looked like a red ribbon of his own.

By the time Oona stepped through the threshold, a
cool breeze was sweeping across the outside platform. The fresh air was a reward in itself … but still, she couldn't help but feel cheated somehow.

“Good show,” she heard the architect say. She showed him the golden banana she had taken from the stripe-faced ape, and he shoved something into her hand: a short bit of white ribbon. Oona smiled politely and nodded, though truthfully she felt like balling the ribbon up and tossing it to the crowd three stories below.

Five minutes later, Adler came huffing through the exit, his threadbare cloak looking even worse for wear, though remarkably his top hat remained firmly stationed atop his head, as if it had been glued there. He approached the architect, exchanging his golden banana for a green-colored ribbon, and then grinned at Oona. But presently, Oona did not feel much like grinning back.

Isadora Iree, however, was beaming.

T
hird place!”

Chin in hands, Oona sat in the Pendulum House grand parlor, her back to the crackling fireplace. A tall, windowless room with large tapestries depicting sprites, and goblins, and gnomes, it was one of Oona's favorite places to think. She enjoyed the way the creatures in the artwork moved when people weren't looking at them, so that the magical figures never appeared in the same position twice.

Just as peculiar was the enormous seven-foot-tall pendulum that swung through the center of the room. It was this spectacular oddity from whence Pendulum House took its name, and was the instrument that kept Dark Street moving in perfect time through the Drift.

“Third place,” Oona said again. She shook her head disbelievingly and stared at the bit of ribbon in her hand. “And I would have been first, Deacon, had it not been for that infernal monkey-brained monkey stealing the evidence from my pocket.”

“Monkey-brained monkey is a redundancy.” Deacon stood rigidly on the arm of the sofa. “And besides, I thought you said it was an ape?”

“You know, Deacon,” Oona said, “there is little doubt in my mind that Isadora Iree is cheating.”

Deacon shook his head. “Cheating? How is that possible? Are you sure you're not just being a poor sport?”

“Poor sport? Me?” she asked.

Deacon shrugged. “All I am saying is that I see no way Miss Iree
could
cheat. If indeed, as you have explained, she used her powers of femininity to get Roderick Rutherford to help her in the physical task, there is no rule in the contest against it. In fact, some might even consider it a virtue.”

“Virtue?” Oona asked.

“Am I not speaking clearly?” Deacon asked earnestly.

Oona jumped to her feet, unconvinced. “But it is not the physical task I am concerned with. Rather the mental task.”

“Perhaps you do not give the girl enough credit,” Deacon said.

This made Oona want to laugh. She was sure that Isadora would stop at nothing to get exactly what she wanted. Oona removed the ring they had found from her pocket, holding it up to the firelight.

“Perhaps you are right, Deacon,” she said, and began pacing the floor, moving in rhythm to the swing of the pendulum. “Perhaps Isadora is more clever than I would like to admit. After all, it is quite a coincidence, is it not, that the night before Isadora Iree claims victory in the first challenge, a very powerful object goes missing from the gypsy caravan? A tool that can be used to answer any question.”

“If you are speaking of the Punchbowl Oracle, I must repeat that there is no mention of it in the
Encyclopedia Arcanna
. It is highly unlikely that a bowl with the powers to answer any question would exist without being included in the encyclopedia.”

Oona spun around. “Improbable, but not impossible! Let us theorize, Deacon. If Isadora did steal the punchbowl, she could then use it to ask something like: ‘Oh, magic punchbowl, what is the answer to the first mental challenge?' and the answer would appear before her in the bowl. How else do you explain Isadora getting the answer and showing up at the museum before anyone else? And don't say she just figured it out, Deacon. This is Isadora Iree we're talking about.”

Deacon opened his beak as if to protest, but then appeared to reconsider. “Yes, I see your point.”

“And this, too, Deacon,” she said, holding up the ring. “A ladies' ring, found beneath the trapdoor to the caravan. Do you remember if Isadora was wearing a ring the night of the party?”

Deacon shook his head.

“No,” Oona said. “I can't remember either.”

“You could show her the ring and ask her if she lost it,” Deacon suggested.

Oona stopped pacing, her expression brightening. “An excellent idea, Deacon! Let's do it tonight.”

“Tonight?” asked Deacon. “But don't you think it smarter to spend your time trying to figure out that clue?”

He pointed his beak at the white ribbon, which Oona had left on the sofa. She could see the words written on it in black ink.

Deacon hopped to the sofa cushion and picked the ribbon up with a talon. “The architect gave it to the four remaining contestants to give them a head start on the challenge facing you all tomorrow,” he said.

“He did indeed,” Oona said, taking the ribbon from Deacon and reading the clue.

Oona nodded. “Yes Deacon, I believe you are right.”

“You mean that you should spend this evening concentrating on that clue?” he asked.

Oona favored him with a roguish smile. “No, Deacon. I meant that this evening would be the perfect time to confront Isadora Iree. In fact, there's no time like the present. Samuligan!” she called.

The faerie servant opened the door to the parlor, as if he had been waiting just outside the room. His cowboy boots clicked against the floor, hollow and haunting.

“Will you bring the carriage around?” Oona asked. “We're going to make a little trip to the Academy of Fine Young Ladies.”

“But what about the clue?” Deacon asked, and Oona could hear the disapproval in his voice.

“Deacon, if Isadora Iree is indeed the punchbowl thief, then it's likely that even if I do figure out this clue, Isadora will have the answer already. So you see, it is vital that we find her out for the thieving cheat that she is.”

“Or the thieving cheat she is not,” Deacon said. “I hope you are prepared for that possibility as well.”

Thirty minutes later Samuligan pulled the carriage
to a stop in front of the Academy of Fine Young Ladies. The ornate building gleamed prettily in the streetlight as Oona exited the riding compartment and knocked on the front entrance. The door was answered by a rail-thin woman whose gaunt face and high cheekbones gave her a skeletal appearance.

“May I help you?” she inquired, her voice low and disapproving.

Deacon whispered in Oona's ear: “That is Arianna Duvet, headmistress of the academy.”

Oona nodded, smiling politely. “Hello, Headmistress Duvet. I'm dreadfully sorry to call so late, but I was wondering if I might have a word with Isadora Iree.”

Headmistress Duvet stared down the sides of her nose at Oona, and her mouth pulled into a line so thin it nearly disappeared altogether. “And what is this inappropriately late visit about?” she asked.

Oona wetted her lips. The headmistress made her feel all-over nervous. “It is regarding something I believe Isadora lost. I found it, and would like to return it to her.”

Headmistress Duvet raised one well-plucked eyebrow, and Oona noticed for the first time that the eye beneath the brow was not real, but made of glass. And now that Oona watched them, she could see the woman's eyes moving independently of each other.

The headmistress extended her hand. “Give the found object to me, and I will see that it finds its way back to Miss Iree.”

Oona frowned. The whole point of this expedition was to see Isadora's reaction to the ring, and she wasn't about to just hand over a crucial piece of evidence, no matter how sternly this woman glared down her nose at her.

Looking the headmistress squarely in her good eye, Oona said: “It is a private matter.”

The headmistress looked as if Oona had just given her the worst insult imaginable, and for a moment Oona was afraid that the glass eye might pop right out of her head.

“What is a private matter?” asked a voice from behind Oona. She turned, blinking in surprise. Dressed in an extravagant blue velvet dress, Isadora's mother, Madame Iree, sauntered into the glow of the nearby streetlight. She smiled gracefully at Oona, patting absently at her hair.

“Ah, Madame Iree,” said Headmistress Duvet, still looking menacingly at Oona. Oona flinched as the headmistress arrowed a finger at her. “This girl claims to have something of your daughter's. But she will not reveal what it is.”

“Well, isn't that convenient?” said Madame Iree, who seemed oblivious to Headmistress Duvet's maniacal stare. “I just happen to be stopping by to visit with Isadora as we speak.” She turned to Oona. “Why don't you come
up with me, and we can visit her in her room … ah, Miss Crate, is it?”

Oona nodded, unable to conceal a smile. Things were working out better than planned. She'd expected at most that Headmistress Duvet would call Isadora to the front door, but here was Madame Iree inviting Oona to visit Isadora's room. It would be the perfect opportunity to see if Isadora happened to have a certain punchbowl sitting out in the open.

Headmistress Duvet eyed Deacon, either unable or unwilling to hide her distain. Her top lip quivered slightly as she said: “The bird must wait outside.”

Oona glanced at Deacon, who appeared relieved. She couldn't blame him. Headmistress Duvet was more than a little creepy.

“Good luck,” he whispered before flying to the top of the carriage to wait with Samuligan.

“Shall we?” asked Madame Iree, and under the severe gaze of Headmistress Duvet's cross-eyed stare, she and Oona entered the academy, removing their hats and hanging them on hooks in the front entryway.

A long-handled cane leaned ominously against the wall beneath the hooks. The end of the cane expanded out like a paddle, and a single word had been etched into the wood. In thick, easily readable letters it read:
IMPROPER
. Oona could only imagine the countless stings
that paddle had sent through many a fine young lady's backside.

“I'm busy with lesson plans,” said Headmistress Duvet, picking up the cane and slapping it in her open palm with a raw
smack
. Both Oona and Madame Iree jumped. “I believe you know the way,” the headmistress said, and then turned abruptly and marched down the hall before disappearing into one of the open rooms. Oona felt her shoulders relax.

“This way,” said Madame Iree, and began making her way toward a large curved staircase. It reminded Oona of the staircase in Pendulum House, except that these stairs were impeccably well taken care of. The carpets were dazzlingly clean, and the chandelier hanging in the entryway sparkled. Instead of the dark wood tones and serious-faced portraits of Pendulum House, the academy was bright with feminine colors, lavender walls with white borders, and scenic paintings of flowery hillsides and brightly lit ponds.

The air smelled faintly of flowers, and the sound of a piano drifted through one of the open doors down the hall. It was Oona's first time in the highly prestigious boarding school, and as she followed Madame Iree up the curving staircase, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease. It wasn't just that she felt out of place—which she did, but that was okay because that was a feeling
Oona had gotten used to long ago—but it was because when Oona had been younger, before her parents had died, her mother had encouraged her to attend the academy. Her mother had been a member, and it had seemed only fitting that her daughter should follow in her footsteps—that was, until Oona's uncle chose her as his apprentice.