Spellbinder (26 page)

“Awful man,” she said, “an absolute stinking rotter.”

Belladonna looked at her. She could feel the tears burning in her eyes but was determined not to cry. She was about to say something when there was a low moan from the hallway.

“Steve!”

They ran back to the door where Steve lay crumpled against the wall at the foot of the stairs, the Draconite Amulet at his feet and his head in his hands.

“Are you alright?” asked Belladonna.

“My head . . .” he groaned.

“It was Ashe,” explained Belladonna, “but it doesn’t
make any sense. Grandpa said the witch bottles kept him out. He said he couldn’t even send dreams to Grandma.”

“It’s the amulet, I suspect,” said Elsie matter-of-factly. “Apparently it works like an amplifier. That’s one of the things it does anyway, according to that book of Ashe’s.”

Belladonna stared at her. Elsie sat down on the stairs.

“According to your Granddad, each of the Nomials has a special power. According to the notebook, Ashe had only managed to locate one. He seemed to think that this one would help him find the others, but he was most interested in its ability to amplify. He went on and on about that, apparently.”

Steve looked up and rested his head back against the wall.

“Feeling better?” asked Belladonna.

“What happened?”

“Well, if Elsie’s right—”

“Which I am.”

“If Elsie’s right, the amulet probably amplified Ashe’s magic so he was able to get into your head and control you in spite of the witch bottles.”

Steve looked blank, so she explained the events of the last fifteen minutes, concluding with the disappearance of Grandpa Johnson.

For a moment there was silence.

“I’m sorry,” said Steve quietly.

“It wasn’t your fault,” said Elsie. “It was Ashe.”

Steve shook his head. He looked frightened. “I don’t remember any of it,” he said. “Just going to bed. And my head aching.”

He reached for the amulet and slowly slipped it around his neck again. Elsie watched him, her mouth a thin line of determination.

“Right,” she said. “We have to get out of here.”

Steve looked up at her, his fear rapidly being replaced by the irritation he always seemed to feel whenever Elsie opened her mouth.

“Oh, right,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’ll get my jacket. Which way would you like to go? Out the back into the jaws of whatever kind of dog that is, or out the front door? I’m sure that alchemist won’t be a bit of trouble.”

“Oh,
ha
,” said Elsie. “For your information, Belladonna’s grandfather had a plan.”

“He did?” said Belladonna and Steve in unison.

“Yes. He said we should go up to the roof and sneak out across the roofs of the other houses. He said we could get down at the end terrace and then head for the House of Mists.”

“How do we get up there?” asked Steve.

“There’s a trapdoor to the attic at the top of the stairs!” Belladonna felt suddenly optimistic. This could work.

“Right,” said Steve, standing up. “It’s a plan.”

Belladonna ran into the back room to retrieve her
backpack and Ashe’s book, which was lying open where Grandpa Johnson had left it on a small table near his chair. She shoved it into her bag and turned to leave, but as she did so, she noticed something on the floor near the door—his empty pipe, abandoned in the rush to save Steve. For a moment she just stood and stared at it, then she bent down and picked it up carefully. It was an ordinary pipe, not fancy or special in any way, but now it was all that remained of the grandfather she had never known and then found. She could feel the tears burning in her eyes again.

“Are you coming?” Elsie’s voice echoed down the hall.

“Yes! Just a sec!”

She wiped the tears from her eyes, took a deep breath, and marched out into the hall. She was walking back to the stairs, shoving the pipe into the front pocket, when she felt something hard.

“The ruler!” she said suddenly. “I nearly forgot!”

Steve and Elsie both looked at her as if she had finally and totally gone to ga-ga-land.

“What?” said Steve.

“Slackett gave it to me. He seemed to think it was important. He said you’d know what to do with it.”

She scrabbled about in the pocket of the backpack and handed Steve the plastic ruler. He stared at it and then at her.

“It’s a ruler,” he said flatly.

“I know,” said Belladonna, “but Slackett said that
you were the Paladin and that you’d know what to do with it.”

“Underline something?” said Steve sarcastically. “Or . . . oh, I know—I could measure the exact length of the Hound’s teeth, right before it uses them.”

“You could draw a right-angled triangle,” suggested Elsie, grinning.

“No,” said Steve, “I’d need a protractor for that.”

Belladonna could feel her cheeks burning and she tried to control her irritation.

“Look,” she said, “haven’t you noticed? Slackett isn’t out there with Ashe. He risked everything to get that ruler to you. He could be dead now—”

“He’s already dead,” pointed out Elsie, not very helpfully.

“Yes, but . . . well, he’s not here and I think Ashe did something to him and he said that ruler was important!”

“Alright, alright, keep your hair on,” said Steve, shoving the ruler into his pocket. “I’ll keep it.”

Belladonna nodded, then felt suddenly embarrassed by her own fury over a six-inch plastic ruler.

“Have you finished messing about?” said Elsie sternly. “Can we possibly escape now, d’you think?”

“Sure,” said Steve, clearly feeling much better. “Off onto the roof, down a drainpipe, and away to the House of Mists, where the Conclave of Shadow will explain everything. I don’t think.”

“But maybe the Spellbinder will be there,” said Belladonna.

“The what?” said Elsie and Steve in unison.

“The Spellbinder,” Belladonna looked from one to the other. “Lady Mary told me to tell the Spellbinder. At Arkbath Hall. And I think my mother and father knew something about her, but they wouldn’t tell me because . . . well, because . . .”

“Because they’re adults,” said Steve, “and they never tell us anything.”

“And then Slackett thought I was the Spellbinder, but obviously I’m not, so—”

“Why?” said Steve.

“Because I’m not.”

“But maybe you are. I mean, you’re the one who knew the words to open the door.”

“Yes,” said Elsie, the excitement rising in her voice, “and you were able to summon the Dead. That’s not a normal thing to be able to do, you know.”

“No!” cried Belladonna suddenly. “It’s not me! It can’t be me!”

Elsie and Steve looked at each other. Elsie tried to put an arm around her shoulders but Belladonna shrugged her off angrily.

Silence. They looked at each other, and then at the floor.

“Why?” said Steve quietly. “Why can’t it be you?”

“Because,” Belladonna wiped her hand across her eyes. “Because Lady Mary told me to find the Spellbinder because she’d know what to do.”

“So?”

“And I don’t!” she blurted. “I don’t know what to do! If everyone’s expecting the Spellbinder to save the day and I’m the Spellbinder, then . . . my Grandpa would still be here.” Her voice trailed off.

Steve and Elsie glanced at each other. Belladonna could see the disappointment in their eyes . . . and the pity. She wished she hadn’t said anything.

“Well,” said Steve finally, “if you’re not the Spellbinder, then maybe she’s at this House of Mists place.”

“Maybe,” mumbled Belladonna.

“Either way,” said Elsie in her best brisk, no-nonsense way, “the first order of business is to get out of here. Where’s this trapdoor, then?”

They crept up the stairs to the landing and stared at the square in the ceiling that marked the entrance to the attic. The edges were grubby from decades of fingers, but there was no obvious way to get to it, let alone remove it.

“How are we supposed to reach that?” said Elsie.

“There’s a chair in the front room!”

Belladonna ran off and returned with an old chair. Steve took it off her, placed it squarely underneath the trapdoor, and jiggled it. One of the legs promptly fell off.

“Why don’t you just climb on the banister?” asked Elsie.

“Because I might fall off and plummet to my death,” said Steve drily.

“I’ll do it, then! I’m already dead.”

“So you keep saying,” muttered Steve.

Elsie heaved herself up on the banister, teetered there for a moment, turned a funny color, and quickly got down.

“What’s the matter?” asked Belladonna.

“Apparently you can still have vertigo even when you’re dead,” said Elsie unhappily.

“That doesn’t seem fair,” said Belladonna, peering over the banister and down into the hall. It didn’t seem all that far—maybe she could do it. She glanced up at the trapdoor and tried to calculate how much of a stretch it would be from the banister.

She had just decided that if she could get some kind of a stick, maybe a broom handle or something, she could probably reach the trapdoor and knock it away (assuming it opened inward, of course), when Steve emerged from the second bedroom, dragging the bedside table.

“Found this,” he said. “Help me get it over there.”

They dragged it under the trapdoor and he clambered on top, but he still wasn’t high enough. They looked at each other, then at the trapdoor, then at the disappointing bedside table.

“Hang on,” said Belladonna, “what about this?”

She took out the drawer, spilled the contents onto the floor, and handed it to Steve. He set it on top of the table and stepped onto it.

It only gave him a few extra inches, but it was enough to reach the trapdoor. He pushed on it and it
gave way with a soft click, swinging gently down into the hall like a loose tooth.

“Yes!”

The triumph was short-lived, however. The hole into the attic was black and impenetrable, and none of the dim light on the landing seemed to reach it at all.

“Come on,” said Steve to Belladonna, after a few moments’ silence, “I’ll give you a bunk up.”

“Me?” said Belladonna. “Why me?”

“Because I don’t think you could lift me up there.”

“Well, what about Elsie?”

“She’s afraid of heights, in case you didn’t notice. Look,” he rummaged through his pockets and produced his key-chain light. “You can have this.”

Belladonna turned the tiny light on. Somehow it seemed even less effective than when they’d used it to find the Cumean Sibyl. Still, there was probably nothing for it. She reached up and took Steve’s hand. For a moment, they both teetered on the drawer, then he clasped his hands together and smiled encouragingly. Or Belladonna imagined it was supposed to be encouraging; what it actually looked like was some sort of grimace. She put her right foot into his hands, her hands on his shoulders, and pushed off with the left. He heaved her upward with a grunt and she flew up into the attic, grabbing the edges of the opening as she went and pushing herself on through. She landed with a thump just as she heard an almighty crash below.

“I’m okay! I’m okay!”

She peered over the edge and saw Steve lying on the floor, the drawer next to him and the bedside table on its side.

“Yes, he’s fine!” laughed Elsie. “He fell on his head! No damage!”

Steve glared at her for a second, then failed miserably at maintaining his scowl and burst out laughing as well. Belladonna grinned as she leaned out of the attic, putting off the awful moment when she’d actually have to explore.

“What’s it like?” asked Steve, scrambling to his feet.

“Dark,” said Belladonna.

She turned on the tiny flashlight and shone it into the attic. The pinprick of light showed roof beams, swags of cobwebs, and long-abandoned bird nests.

“Can you tell if there’s a way out onto the roof?”

Belladonna sighed: Now she’d have to leave the relative security of the trapdoor opening and walk around. She stood up and tested the strength of the floor with her right foot. It
seemed
strong enough. She took a few steps in. Down below, she could hear Steve reconstructing the tower and arguing with Elsie about who should go up next. She felt the cobwebs as she eased past, like hands stroking her hair, and flinched as something crunched underfoot. Why did she always have to be the first one into the dark, creepy places?

This attic was nothing like the ones at school. Those were really like rooms, large and spacious with proper walls and even polished floors in some places. But this
attic was never intended for people; it was like the inside of an insect’s exoskeleton: brown, dry, and dismal. Belladonna couldn’t get rid of the feeling that she was in someone else’s domain and that sooner or later the pinprick of light from Steve’s flashlight would reveal something dreadful—probably involving compound eyes and four-part jaws.

Which is why she nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a thump behind her, followed by frantic scrabbling. She whirled around, but it was only Elsie, hauling herself up and into the attic.

“Oooh, creepy!” she said, not very helpfully. “Look at these cobwebs! Have you found any spiders yet?”

“No,” said Belladonna, trying not to think about it.

“I’ll bet they’re corkers!”

“Hello? Could I get a hand?”

Belladonna looked down the opening. Steve was standing on the rickety bedside table, holding up a hand.

“Hmm,” she said, “how are we going to do this?”

“How about grabbing my hand and pulling?”

“You’re too far down.”

She looked around for inspiration, but there wasn’t much in the way of potential tools in the attic. Then her eyes lit on the back of Elsie’s head.

“Undo that ribbon,” she commanded.

“What!?” Elsie spun around. “No! I’ve worn this for nearly one hundred years!”

“Well then, you’re overdue for a change.”

Elsie opened her mouth to object further, but thought better of it and turned her back to Belladonna, offering up her head. Belladonna reached up, untied the massive bow, and watched as Elsie’s curls cascaded over her shoulders in shining corkscrews. She tried to suppress a pang of envy. Her mother had tried to curl her hair once, but as soon as she’d taken the curlers out, it had fallen into limp waves and within half an hour was hanging in its usual lank black strings.