Authors: Carla Jablonski
Consequences
TM
*4
Consequences
Carla Jablonski
Created by
Neil Gaiman and John Bolton
For Matthew and Michelle, just
because.
âCJ
It was another glorious day in Free Country, a spectacularâ¦
“So you see, Molly, it's like this.” Timothy Hunter tookâ¦
It couldn't be, Tim told himself. He was holding aâ¦
King Auberon of Faerie sat on a high-backed, richly upholsteredâ¦
Tim left the abandoned lot in a hurry, heading forâ¦
Daniel huddled on the steps beneath a statue in Piccadillyâ¦
Tim stared at Molly and Marya, both frozen mid-step. Heâ¦
Tim continued staring at Molly and Marya. “Okay, so farâ¦
Gwendolyn led the blue gentleman through a tunnel filled withâ¦
Reverend Slaggingham had been tickled to see the transformation inâ¦
Tim shook his head. “This death wish of yours, Tim,”â¦
Brother Salamander was above Gwendolyn on the ladder, grunting heavilyâ¦
Marya stroked the white mane of the unicorn as theyâ¦
“What strange company you keep these days, my husband,” Titaniaâ¦
An Introduction
by Neil Gaiman
W
HEN I WAS STILL
a teenager, only a few years older than Tim Hunter is in the book you are holding, I decided it was time to write my first novel. It was to be called
Wild Magic
, and it was to be set in a minor British Public School (which is to say, a private school), like the ones from which I had so recently escaped, only a minor British Public School that taught magic. It had a young hero named Richard Grenville, and a pair of wonderful villains who called themselves Mister Croup and Mister Vandemar. It was going to be a mixture of Ursula K. Le Guin's
A Wizard of Earthsea
and T. H. White's
The Sword in the Stone
, and, well, me, I suppose. That was the plan. It seemed to me that learning about magic was the perfect story, and I was sure I could really write convincingly about school.
I wrote about five pages of the book before I realized that I had absolutely no idea what I was
doing, and I stopped. (Later, I learned that most books are actually written by people who have no idea what they are doing, but go on to finish writing the books anyway. I wish I'd known that then.)
Years passed. I got married, and had children of my own, and learned how to finish writing the things I'd started.
Then one day in 1988, the telephone rang.
It was an editor in America named Karen Berger. I had recently started writing a monthly comic called
The Sandman
, which Karen was editing, although no issues had yet been published. Karen had noticed that I combined a sort of trainspotterish knowledge of minor and arcane DC Comics characters with a bizarre facility for organizing them into something more or less coherent. And also, she had an idea.
“Would you write a comic,” she asked, “that would be a history of magic in the DC Comics universe, covering the past and the present and the future? Sort of a Who's Who, but with a story? We could call it
The Books of Magic
.”
I said, “No, thank you.” I pointed out to her how silly an idea it wasâa Who's Who and a history and a travel guide that was also a story. “Quite a ridiculous idea,” I said, and she apologized for having suggested it.
In bed that night I hovered at the edge of sleep, musing about Karen's call, and what a ridiculous idea it was. I meanâ¦a story that would go from the beginning of timeâ¦to the end of timeâ¦and have someone meet all these strange peopleâ¦and learn all about magicâ¦.
Perhaps it wasn't so ridiculousâ¦.
And then I sighed, certain that if I let myself sleep it would all be gone in the morning. I climbed out of bed and crept through the house back to my office, trying not to wake anyone in my hurry to start scribbling down ideas.
A boy. Yes. There had to be a boy. Someone smart and funny, something of an outsider, who would learn that he had the potential to be the greatest magician the world had ever seenâmore powerful than Merlin. And four guides, to take him through the past, the present, through other worlds, through the future, serving the same function as the ghosts who accompany Ebenezer Scrooge through Charles Dickens's
A Christmas Carol.
I thought for a moment about calling him Richard Grenville, after the hero of my book-I'd-never-written, but that seemed a rather too heroic name (the original Sir Richard Grenville was a sea captain, adventurer, and explorer, after all). So I called him Tim, possibly because the Monty
Python team had shown that Tim was an unlikely sort of name for an enchanter, or with faint memories of the hero of Margaret Storey's magical children's novel,
Timothy and Two Witches
. I thought perhaps his last name should be Seekings, and it was, in the first outline I sent to Karenâa faint tribute to John Masefield's haunting tale of magic and smugglers,
The Midnight Folk
. But Karen felt this was a bit literal, so he became, in one stroke of the pen, Tim Hunter.
And as Tim Hunter he sat up, blinked, wiped his glasses on his T-shirt, and set off into the world.
(I never actually got to use the minor British Public School that taught only magic in a story, and I suppose now I never will. But I was very pleased when Mr. Croup and Mr. Vandemar finally showed up in a story about life under London, called
Neverwhere
.)
John Bolton, the first artist to draw Tim, had a son named James who was just the right age and he became John's model for Tim, tousle-haired and bespectacled. And in 1990 the first four volumes of comics that became the first
Books of Magic
graphic novel were published.
Soon enough, it seemed, Tim had a monthly series of comics chronicling his adventures and misadventures, and the slow learning process he
was to undergo, as initially chronicled by author John Ney Reiber, who gave Tim a number of thingsâmost importantly, Molly.
In this new series of novels-without-pictures, Carla Jablonski has set herself a challenging task: not only adapting Tim's stories, but also telling new ones, and through it all illuminating the saga of a young man who might just grow up to be the most powerful magician in the world. If, of course, he manages to live that longâ¦.
Neil Gaiman
May 2002
Free Country
I
T WAS ANOTHER GLORIOUS DAY
in Free Country, a spectacular afternoon in an eternity of blissful hours. All was well in the sanctuary world, originally created as a haven for children in danger. The lovely spirits who were the heart and soul of this paradise, the Shimmers, danced above their crystalline pond. Children's laughter could be heard punctuating the soundscape, mingled with lapping water, rushing brooks, birdcalls, and wind chimes. This was a world where the formerly deprived, the previously abused, and the perpetually frightened could be happy and safe. Yes, all was as it should be, as it always was.
Or was it?
Daniel sat glumly in a rickety little rowboat, glaring at his fishing pole. His long dark blond hair
was pulled back in a ponytail that poked out from under the battered top hat sitting low on his forehead. He had rolled up his striped cotton trousers and his overcoat sleeves so they wouldn't get wet, but they did anyway. This did not improve his mood.
“Any luck?” Spud asked.
Spud perched in the bow of the boat, facing Daniel, with his fishing line over the side. Daniel was in the stern, gazing unseeing at the high cliffs rising from the riverbanks. It had been Spud's stupid idea to go fishing. Daniel wasn't going to let him get off lightly for such a bad plan.
“Not a nibble,” Daniel complained. “You know, Spud, it would help if we had some bait on them hooks.”
“Cripes, Daniel,” Spud replied. “Any ol' gump can catch fishies with bait! And here I thought you was a sport.”
“I'll tell you what I am,” Daniel grumbled. “I'm stunning bored, that's what.”
“Awww, ain't you a drip and a half,” Spud complained. “You're a regular wet blanket these days. Ever since your sweetie pie scrammed out of here.”
“Marya wasn't myâ” Daniel whirled around on the bench, nearly capsizing the little boat. He settled himself before he continued. “We was
friends
. That's all.”
Spud snorted. “Sure. You were just pals. 'Cause she wouldn't have anything to do with the likes of you.”
Daniel turned back around in his seat, so that Spud couldn't see his face. He fixed his eyes on a spot on the horizon and counted to ten. His hands balled into fists, despite his effort to stay calm. “What do you know?” he muttered.
“I know more than you think,” Spud taunted. “The way I heard it, Marya ran away because you tried to kiss her.”
“What?” Daniel rose from the bench without even thinking. He turned and stepped in front of Spud, scowling down at the boy.
“Quit rocking the boat, will you? Do you want to end up in the water?” Spud scolded.
“You take that back,” Daniel ordered. He knew he shouldn't let Spud get to him like thisâthat it would only egg Spud on. But the things he was saying! Daniel couldn't just let that pass.
As predicted, Spud smirked and kept up with his teasing. “Yep. I heard you snuck up on her at Shimmer Rock and gave her a great big ol' smackaroonie! She burst into tears and ran away, clear out of Free Country.”
Daniel reached down and grabbed Spud's upper arm.
“Ow!” Spud yelped. “Let go!”
Daniel yanked Spud up off his seat so that they were nose to nose. “You listen to me,” Daniel growled. His voice was low and serious. He didn't think he had ever heard himself sound that way before. “I never did no such thing.”
For the first time, he saw real fear in Spud's brown eyes. The boy squirmed, trying to get away, and knocked his tweed cap into the water. “Let go,” Spud saidâonly this time it wasn't a command, it was a plea.
Daniel just clenched tighter, with both hands now. Spud stopped struggling and went limp in Daniel's grip.
“You think Marya's gone because of something I done?” Daniel demanded, giving Spud a little shake. “What do you think she took with her as her most special memento? Huh?” He shook Spud again. “The little ballerina statue I gave her. What do you think of that!”
He released Spud, who teetered and then sat down hard on the bench, water sloshing up into the rowboat. Daniel bent his knees a bit, rocking with the boat, keeping his balance.
Spud rubbed his arm and scowled at Daniel. “Okay, okay, you don't have to get all physical.”
Daniel knew Spud would have a big bruise on his arm, but he didn't care. Spud had to learn that he couldn't say such things and get away with it.
“So then why
did
Marya leave?” Spud asked moodily.
Daniel's eyes narrowed. He felt anger rise up in him again, only this time it wasn't Spud he was mad at. “It was that Timothy Hunter,” he said with a clenched jaw. “Timothy Hunter lured her away to the Bad World and I hate him for it.”
“So why don't you go and get her back, instead of picking on me,” Spud complained, rubbing his arm again.
Daniel stared at Spud. He had never realized what a genius Spud was until that minute. He was dead brilliant!
Sitting down beside Spud on the little bench, Daniel clapped a hand on Spud's shoulder. Spud flinched, as if he were afraid Daniel would hurt him again.
“That's just what I intend to do, old chap,” Daniel said to Spud, giving him a friendly squeeze. “I'll find her, all right. I'll find that bloody Tim, too. Timothy Hunter will regret the day he ever came to Free Country.”