The Voyage to Magical North (13 page)

“Because Tallis Magus is like most magicians—timid, rule-bound, and not actually very good at magic. Spellshapes are a shortcut, allowing someone like him to cast more powerful spells simply by learning the right shape. They're useful occasionally—you interrupted one back on Morning, you'll remember—but for people like us, they can become a cage. Rely on spellshapes, and you'll never go beyond what you can memorize and copy.”

Peter hadn't missed the way Marfak West said “people like us,” as if he and Peter were on one side and the whole world on the other. He wasn't sure he liked the idea, though the notion of using magic without spellshapes was interesting. “The stories say you can turn people into fish,” he said. “What's the point of turning people into fish if you can't even get out of a cage?”

“The stories, as you know, are a load of rubbish,” said Marfak West. “I did not turn people into fish. I conducted a one-off experiment in enhancing ordinary people with the more useful abilities of sea creatures. The ability to breathe underwater, for example. All of my subjects were volunteers. I didn't force anyone against their will, and, in any case, the experiment failed.”

This was more interesting than levitating starshell or crates. Peter sat forward. “What happened?”

“Cassie O'Pia happened, what do you think?” Marfak West flapped a hand irritably. “The big hero who destroyed my life's work. My volunteers all fled into the sea when she sank the
Antares
, and I was left with nothing. If anyone had bothered to ask what I was doing instead of charging in and sinking my ship, human evolution could be a thousand years on by now.”

“Evolution?”

“Adaptation. Progress. Where do you think people are going to live when we run out of land? It will happen, you know. Think of those tiny islands where fishermen live on the edge of starvation. Think of Morning—all the rich people building towers because there simply isn't enough land for them all.”

Peter had thought that Baron Kaitos just liked high towers.

“One day,” said Marfak West, “mankind will have to take to the seas to survive, and if we leave the process to luck, most of us will starve before we grow our own gills. I was trying to speed things up, to give us a fighting chance when the time comes. But no, I am the evil magician, and I must be stopped.”

“If you don't want people to treat you like an evil magician, you could maybe, you know, not act like one,” suggested Peter.

Marfak West glowered and didn't answer. Peter grinned recklessly. “Do you know why people sing songs about Cassie O'Pia and you never get a mention? It's because she talks to people. Everyone knows what she's doing all the time.” He sang, “Marfak West, Marfak West, don't know what he wanted, but he tried his best.”

Marfak West's eyes flashed. Peter stopped singing, cold fingers of fear crawling up his back. He'd gone too far. All the same, something inside him felt ready to snap. “It's not my fault,” he said. “What am I supposed to think if I only ever hear Cassie's side of the story? Why do you want to go to Magical North? If it even exists, which I doubt.”

“Magical North exists,” retorted the magician. “So does the treasure. You're welcome to them both—I have other plans. You're thinking of Magical North as the end of the journey. It's not—it's only the beginning.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” asked Peter.

“You'll find out.” Marfak West turned his face away. “I thought you were here to learn. What do you want to try next?”

*   *   *

Brine walked between shelves that were bowed with books, her chest ready to explode with excitement.

“The library is built out of a natural cave system,” said Tom Girl. “The cellars at the bottom are at sea level, and they're always cold. Our oldest books are stored there so they can be kept at the right temperature. Then, going up to ground level, we have libraries for separate subjects. This section is all geography.”

Brine reached up to take a book off a shelf and stopped as Tom Girl squeaked in protest. Several older Sisters turned and frowned at the noise. It struck Brine then that Tom Girl was the only young person she'd seen in the library. She turned to ask her about it, but Tom Girl was also looking at her curiously.

“What island are you from?” asked Tom Girl softly. “You're not from the Columba Ocean.”

Brine found herself dropping her own voice to match. “Technically, I'm from Minutes in the Atlas Ocean. But really I don't know. I was found at sea.”

“Oh. That's interesting.”

Brine didn't feel like talking about it. “Not really. Why do they call you Tom Girl?”

Tom Girl shrugged and rearranged her hair over her face. “It's what they call a girl who keeps acting like a boy.”

“I don't get it,” Brine said.

Tom Girl sighed. “Clumsy, loud, and stupid. It's supposed to be a joke, my mother says.” She didn't sound like she thought it was very funny.

“Your mother?”

“Ursula. Assistant Keeper of Books: Geographical Exploration and Poetry, Seventh Grade. That's why they let me stay here, because of her.” She sighed again. “Come on.” She led the way up to the next floor and into a room full of small wooden cages. Most of them held bored-looking seagulls.

“Here's where we keep the messenger gulls,” said Tom Girl. She opened a box full to the brim with narrow cylindrical containers. “We received news last week that Cassie O'Pia destroyed Baron Kaitos's tower on Morning.”

“She did, sort of. There was a bit of a fight and…” Brine wasn't sure how much she should say. “Wouldn't it be easier if some of you went out to gather the news yourselves?”

Tom Girl gasped and let go of the box lid. It fell back with a crash. A Book Sister rushed through the door.

“Sorry,” said Brine, “my hand slipped. I should go and find Cassie. She'll probably have gotten herself into trouble by now.”

Tom Girl slipped between her and the door. “Do you want to see the science library?”

*   *   *

The science library was almost back at the top of the stairs. Brine was wheezing by the time they arrived. She gazed around the room while she waited for the tightness in her lungs to ease. An old woman sat at a table in the center, watching sand trickle through a giant hourglass.

“That's how we keep time,” whispered Tom Girl. She led Brine out of earshot of the Sister, who was already frowning at them. “It takes exactly sixty minutes for the sand to go through the glass, and then you turn it over. You're not allowed to read or do anything else, because you might miss the moment. It's usually my job, that and waiting by the door in case we have visitors. They won't let me work with the books anymore—not since I dropped one.”

Brine couldn't imagine anything more boring than turning a glass over once an hour, especially doing it surrounded by books she wasn't allowed to read. Not even working for bladder-faced Penn Turbill would be that bad. She stood for a while and watched the Book Sister look at the glass. Something was trying to click into place in her mind, and she couldn't quite get it. “How long have you lived here?” she asked.

Tom Girl shrugged. “All my life. Just over ten years. My mother came here when she was expecting me.”

“When she was expecting you? But how did she know you'd be a…”

The Book Sister turned the hourglass. Brine's thoughts turned upside down with it.

And there it was.
Click.

 

C
HAPTER
15

There is no such thing as secret knowledge. This is why people will spend years clutching a secret to their breast only to throw away every last word of it when a passing stranger asks a question. This is how it should be. What is the point of knowledge if nobody knows it?

(
From
ALDEBRAN
BOSWELL
'
S
BOOK
OF
SCIENTIFIC
KNOWLEDGE)

Ursula sat upright on a wooden chair at a table full of books, holding another book in her hands. The walls were lined floor to ceiling with shelves, but Ursula's was the only chair in the room, so Cassie and Trudi sat on the floor.

“They say,” murmured Ursula, “that Aldebran Boswell visited Barnard's Reach before setting off for Magical North.”

Cassie wished the librarian would speak up a bit. She had to lean forward to hear.

Ursula opened the book with a little creak of pages. “Boswell was the only man ever to have been allowed on the island, and even then, he wasn't allowed in the library. He had to stand outside. But in the months that followed his visit, he sent his journal by seagull, page by page, to the Head Keeper of Diaries. All the pages were carefully collected together and preserved, though few have been able to read them.”

“Is it in code?” asked Trudi.

“No. Just very bad handwriting.” Ursula turned a page. “What would you like to hear about first? The storms of the dead? The freezing winds and monsters of ice? Or the invisible man-eating bears, or the birds whose song can charm you into the sea to your death?” She shut the book. “Go home, Cassie O'Pia. Tell the world you found Magical North if you must. They'll believe you.”

Cassie met her gaze. “I won't believe me.”

“You are a fool,” said Ursula. “Boswell died trying to find Magical North. What makes you think you can succeed? You'll die, too—you and all your crew.”

Trudi looked uneasy. “No one's going to die,” said Cassie. She held out her hand. “We'll take the book.”

Ursula wrapped her arms around it. “No book leaves the library. It's the rules.”

Cassie put a hand to her cutlass.

And then the door crashed open and Brine charged through, dragging Tom Girl behind her.

*   *   *

“A disguise spell?” Marfak West repeated. His forehead wrinkled as if he was lifting his nonexistent eyebrows, but he shrugged and nodded. “Why not?” He stood up in his cage. He was too tall to stand straight, so he bent over at the shoulders. “The spell is similar to mind control—you're making people see something that's not there. The tricky part is keeping the spell going. You can fool one person for a short time quite easily, but fooling a lot of people most of the time takes real dedication. The starting point of the spell, however, is to fool yourself. Imagine who you want to be. Picture yourself as that person. Hold that picture in your mind. Then let the magic come out of the starshell, and as it does, let your picture slide over you, like you're putting on a cloak. Do you understand?”

Peter frowned. “Yes.”

“Liar. You haven't got a clue what I'm talking about.” Marfak West sighed. “Don't worry about getting it right. Don't look at your hands, just feel the magic merging with the picture in your mind. Magic wants to be used, remember. All you have to do is nudge it in the right direction, and it'll do the rest by itself.”

Peter wished Marfak West would just show him the spellshape. He cupped the starshell piece in both hands and tried to concentrate. “What will happen if I get it wrong?” he asked nervously.

“Nothing,” said Marfak West. “Nothing at all. The magic will scatter harmlessly. You'll waste it, but who cares?”

Tallis Magus had always made dire threats about what would happen if Peter got a spellshape even slightly wrong. Peter felt himself relax. Instead of worrying about what he was doing, he watched the magic uncoil from the starshell and spread up his arms as if he were wearing it. He completely forgot he hadn't actually thought of a disguise.

“Not bad,” said Marfak West as the magic dispersed into the air. “Now do it again and picture the disguise. Don't think too hard about it, just do it.”

Peter's hand grew warm. This time, he felt the spell slide over him and stay there. He looked up, grinning. “Like that?”

Marfak West studied him. “That's an interesting choice of disguise.”

Anything else he might have said was drowned out by Ewan Hughes's voice. “Peter! Are you down here? The answer had better be no.”

The pirate came stamping between the packing crates. Peter quickly dropped the disguise and turned to face him. “It's all right,” he said. “I'm just guarding the prisoner.”

“The prisoner's in a metal cage. He doesn't need guarding.” Ewan Hughes pushed Peter behind him. “If I catch you anywhere near the boy again,” he threatened, “I'll break both your arms. And then your neck.”

“I could hardly prevent the boy from visiting,” said Marfak West. “As you have pointed out, I'm in a cage.”

Peter snorted and turned it into a cough. Ewan Hughes rounded on him. “And if I catch you here again, I'll break your legs. Let's see how well you climb down here if you can't walk. Come on now, move.” He put a hand on Peter's shoulder and marched him away.

Ewan kept the pressure on his shoulder until they reached the ladder to the mid-deck. Peter shoved him away. He was shaking—not with fear, but with rage. Who did Ewan think he was, bursting in on his practice time and threatening him? Even though the starshell was back in his pocket, Peter felt magic coiling into his hand, ready to lash out.

Ewan stepped back. “Peter,” he said, dropping his voice, “I know you're a magician and cleverer than the rest of us. Cassie said we had to leave you alone to practice, and I trust her. But that man”—he jerked his head back—“is rottener than a moldy stink-fish. He'll tell you what you want to hear and betray you later just for the fun of it. It's best not to give him the chance. You understand?”

Peter hung his head. The starshell dragged down on his pocket like a rock. The weight of a whole world that he wasn't allowed to explore. “Cassie told you to leave me alone?”