James Potter And The Morrigan Web (86 page)

“Is…” Rose quavered, “is it… dead?”

Zane shook his head. “No chance. Just knocked out.”

“You sure that repair job of yours will hold, Ralph?” James asked faintly.

Ralph nodded with grim confidence. “Good as new, I’d wager.” He turned to Scorpius and frowned. “That thing you did, grabbing my wand hand… I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Neither did I,” Scorpius shrugged shakily. “But I remembered something my grandfather taught me.”

James joined him in the centre of the tunnel, unable to take his eyes from the repaired barricade and the horrible prone creature behind it. “And what was that?”

Scorpius gestured at Ralph’s wand. “Subtlety is a dead man’s last mistake.”

Nastasia nodded. “Well that sure wasn’t subtle. I guess we all owe you one, don’t we?”

“Let’s not start clapping each other on the back just yet,” Scorpius replied, firming his voice. “We still have to find this Crone Laosa and get the truth out of her about the Morrigan Web.”

“Assuming she’s a real person,” James added wearily.

“And has any secrets to share,” Rose agreed.

“And doesn’t just feed us to
that
thing,” Ralph concluded, hitching a thumb back at the Gowrow.

“What a bunch of sour-pusses you bunch are,” Zane chided. “Come on! The worst has to be behind us now, right?”

Much more slowly and tentatively, the group resumed their journey, inching their way further into the darkening depths of Alma Aleron’s ancient catacombs, wands held high against the shadows. James didn’t want to admit it aloud, but he had a foreboding feeling that Zane’s assumption couldn’t be more wrong.

18. THE MORRIGAN WEB

Soon enough, the tunnel began to angle up again, turning into a stone stairway, punctuated by landings, cross corridors, and great, empty halls. Goblinfire sconces and torches lit the way, despite the obvious disuse of the tunnels themselves. Dust and cobwebs clung to every surface, wafting as the troupe passed. Finally, they reached a monstrous wooden door, fortunately unlocked. It creaked open as Zane pushed it, revealing a more brightly lit corridor lined with arches and tapestries, muted with age and a thick layer of dust.

“Cool,” Zane muttered, his voice unconsciously hushed. “These show the construction of Alma Aleron.” He pointed. “There’s Roberts and Pepperpock at the ground-breaking. And there are the dwarves digging the foundation of Admin Hall.”

“Wait,” Rose said suddenly, stopping in her tracks. “Whose footprints are those?”

James glanced down. Leading away from his own feet, clearly defined on the dusty floor, was a set of fresh footprints, somewhat smaller than his own.

“Somebody else is down here,” Ralph said.

“Maybe it’s her,” Rose suggested. “Crone Laosa.”

James didn’t think so, but resisted the urge to voice this suspicion.

Zane clapped Ralph on the back. “What say we follow them? It’s the only lead we’ve got, right?”

No one spoke up, either to concur or dissent. Thus, silently and carefully, the group crept forward, following the footprints. They led straight down the corridor and around a corner, where they met a second set of footprints. Together, these progressed along a narrow hall and toward a small, dark archway, blocked with a mostly closed wooden door. Firelight flickered teasingly beyond the cracked opening.

“Voices,” Rose whispered. “Is that her?”

As quietly as possible, the students inched toward the door, huddling against the wall, careful not to scuff their feet on the dusty floor. Sure enough, faint and echoing, a voice seemed to be in mid-conversation.

“I don’t get many official visitors, you must understand.” It was an old woman’s voice, cracked and oozing with false sweetness. “I must say, I very nearly cursed you for an interloper. It is my only job, you know. Imagine. A witch of my capabilities, reduced to a mere custodian. Even so, my duties do offer the occasional indulgence. In fact, I was slightly disappointed not to practice my arts on you. I get so few opportunities these days. Still,” she cackled teasingly, “the day is not yet done yet, is it?”

Ralph met James’ eyes in the dark hall. “It’s her!” he whispered. “Crone Laosa! But who’s she talking to?”

James shook his head, confused and worried.

Beyond the cracked door came the tinkle of silver and the faint clatter of plates. Another voice murmured, just out of the range of hearing.

“My apologies,” Crone Laosa simpered. “I am not accustomed to serving more than myself. I do hope that my humble abode does not offend.”

The second voice responded. James strained to listen, but couldn’t make out the words. All he could be sure of was that Crone Laosa’s visitor was a woman.

“I see,” Laosa answered, responding to some unheard question. “This is not to be a pleasant visit, then. You come to dig into the past. And yet I cannot help but wonder-- for good or for ill?”

A response. James leaned close to the door but still could not hear it. The visitor was deeper in Crone Laosa’s quarters, it seemed, around some hidden corner or behind some obstruction. He tried to peer through the crack of the door but could only see the faint flicker of fire, a simmering cauldron, the back of a blanket-draped rocking chair and a mass of blurry shadows.

“Information, then,” Laosa said, a suspicious smile in her voice. “It is quite popular today not to take sides, is it? I would almost prefer that your interrogation be for evil intent than for mere ‘information’. I confess that I like to know where people stand. It makes things much simpler. But so be it. Ask away. I am obliged to respond.”

The visitor spoke immediately. James pressed his ear to the door’s opening. There was something familiar about the voice. It was a woman, and he was almost certain she was not American. His eyes widened as a thought struck him. Could it possibly be the Lady of the Lake? If so, perhaps it would finally provide the proof Rose and Scorpius needed to believe that she was real. Avior may be the face of the Morrigan Web attack, but James was positive Judith was the one pulling the strings behind the scenes.

“Ahh,” Laosa breathed. There was a faint wooden creak-- a rocking chair, perhaps? “Straight to the crux of my family’s sordid past, I see. To be honest, I was prepared to guard these secrets with great vigour and terrible magic. For many years I was primed to kill for them. I laid webs of misdirection, wove great protective spells, prepared vicious traps and counter-jinxes. And yet, amazingly, no one came. No one sought out the secrets I protected. Perhaps (I told myself), just perhaps the world has grown beyond the lust for such things. Perhaps my wardens were right when they assured me that there was no one left in the world mad enough to resort to such horrors.” Laosa sighed deeply, mournfully. “Indeed, after lo these many decades, no one came. But now here you are, the very first. And even you do not come to threaten, to bargain, to murder. You come merely to seek information. How dreadfully, horribly dull. Pray, what has become of the world above?”

The visitor’s voice answered lightly. When Laosa spoke again, she seemed irritated. “Rumours and safeguards, pah. No one seeks such secrets without intent to use them. But so be it, my pretty young friend. Perhaps you are fool enough to believe what you say. I wonder if you will live to realize your mistake? But no matter. The decades have left me restless. I will give you what you seek.”

Laosa paused. Her chair creaked, rocking thoughtfully for almost a minute. Then:

“It was my mother who created it. She did not mean to. It was what some ironically refer to as a ‘happy accident’. She was seeking a way to prime a wand, to augment its powers for those weak in the magical arts. She had a talentless sister, you see, my aunt Tempestra. Despite her name she was nearly impotent, barely one notch above a squib. My mother wished to help her. Thus, she used a magical power source-- in her case, an enchanted ring which had once belonged to her grandfather, a warlock of great talent, highly revered and feared in his day, but alas, long dead. My mother distilled the power of her grandfather’s ring, steeped it, and channelled it into her sister’s wand…”

Another pause while Laosa seemed to ruminate on this. Her visitor spoke again, briefly.

“Of course it did,” Laosa answered. “It was too much, too undirected. But that wasn’t the worst of it. My mother had overlooked one important detail. The steeped magic had absorbed more than the strength of the old, dead warlock. It had absorbed his
intent
. It was very nearly alive. Fortunately, so long as it was imprisoned in the ring, amplified as it was by my mother’s arts, it was harmless. It wasn’t until my mother released it, gave it an outlet in my sister’s wand, that its true power became known. But I get ahead of myself. The true story starts before that, as you surely know…”

More murmured words from Laosa’s visitor. More creaking from Laosa’s rocking chair.

“You truly do not know, then?” Laosa said wonderingly. “And yet, why should you? All records of the disaster have been destroyed. Only two others kept the secrets. And what has become of them? Dead. And not of curses and attacks, as one might expect. They were not killed by those hungry for the sort of power that can only be won via the artful use of terror, but by simple old age. Consequently, their secrets have been absorbed into the dust of history, forgotten by most, discounted by the rest.” She chuckled drily to herself. “Well, by
most
of the rest.
Some
still believe. Some seek the secrets. Some wish to wield the power of the Morrigan Web, and reap its deadly reward.”

Next to James, Rose gasped at the mention of the Morrigan Web. He glanced at her, wide-eyed, as she clamped a hand over her mouth.

“Sounds like somebody beat us to the punch,” Zane whispered, frowning.

“But who?” Scorpius rasped, eyes narrowed.

“Shh!” James hushed them, raising one hand. Beyond the door, the voices were speaking again.

“So be it,” Laosa seemed to agree, a grin in her voice. “You shall hear the tale, and do with it what you will. My mother was the first to bear my duty here in the cellars, cursed to dwell these depths, forbidden from ever again appearing in daylight. It was a kindness, they told her. After all, she hadn’t
meant
to commit any crime. She could not be executed for what was, quite simply, a terrible, disastrous mistake. Her genius had merely opened a door, unleashed a power that simply could not be contained. Thus, the only option was to banish her. And with her, her only daughter, the only other witness to the terror she had wrought.”

Laosa’s chair rocked more quickly now as she warmed to the topic. “But all of that happened afterward. Before the terrors of that night, my mother, Principia Laosa, was a highly regarded professor at the institution above us. Her treatises on the interconnected magical constants of the natural world were ground-breaking, earning her world renown and a position of great honour. Thus, when she announced that she had perfected a theory regarding the transfer of magical energies, the wizarding world listened with great interest. After all, such a discovery could, in theory, grant normal lives to the magically weak, and even to squibs. Some went so far as to conjecture that Muggles could be empowered, allowing them to utilize magic that was utterly absent from their own nature.

“Satisfied with her theories, my mother finally prepared a human trial. This would be conducted on her own sister, Tempestra, using the energy long steeped from my aforementioned great-grandfather’s warlock ring. Representatives from magical institutions the world over gathered to witness the event. Nearly one hundred of the wizarding world’s smartest and most accomplished technomancers, arithmaticians, and healers convened in the medical theatre, breathless with anticipation.

“Tempestra was fearful, but excited. She had always been ashamed of her weakness, her inability to fly, to so much as transfigure a teaspoon out of a thimble. Now, finally, her life was about to change.

“If only she had known…”

Laosa paused again. Her voice was growing hoarse with so much unaccustomed speaking. There was a faint clatter as she seemed to take a drink, firming her voice. Her visitor spoke again, briefly.