CHAPTER SIXTEEN #2
The witch returned to her coffee and, as she did, Dot eyed her dark hair and heart-shaped face.
The mole on her cheek. The scar on the palm of her left hand.
That gallant smile and the glinting daggers hanging from her ear.
Theodora was, to Dot, the very picture of confidence and charm and, for the first time, she wondered: was this really the witch’s face?
It was afternoon by the time Theodora led them through a portal and into her enormous study at the Royal Institute of Alliaster. On the mahogany desk, the plaque read: Doctor Edythe Evans-Pritchard.
‘The university library is resplendent,’ said Theodora. ‘You would love it, Dorothy. Tall bookcases, lots of nooks and crannies to eavesdrop on lecturers.’
Dot’s cheeks reddened. She’d forgotten that she’d told Theodora that story.
‘Shall we go, then?’
‘Oh, we had better not. All the books you could possibly need, I’ve had collected for you,’ said Theodora, pointing to the large writer’s desk in the corner.
Upon it were at least a hundred books in haphazard stacks.
‘If another Magician realised you were unlicensed, it would not go well for either of us.’
‘Either of us?’
‘Well, for your act of trespassing upon the academy library, the Prime Minister would probably take your eyes. For myself, a worse outcome. I was, after all, the one who warded the library.’ Theodora walked behind her desk and sat in her chair.
‘They’d realise I lied about the parameters of the spell. ’
Dot sat cross-legged upon the carpet and spent a good half hour flicking through the books that had been collected for her.
There were several on ancient curses; a few on maladaptive magic; Dot had no idea what she was looking for, yet she thumbed through each page.
Here and there, she glanced up at Theodora, whose pointed boots were up on the desk as she scribbled in her notebook.
‘You’ve glanced at me forty times in the past five minutes,’ said Theodora at last. ‘Do you have a question?’
‘Always,’ said Dot, and the witch laughed.
‘What is your most pressing one, then?’
‘Why a tea shop?’ asked Dot.
Theodora took a long breath, shut her notebook, and folded her arms.
‘I needed a facade to protect the customers,’ said the witch.
‘The shop is warded, but Calléum’s laws are strict and its punishments severe.
I’ve crafted the magic of the shop to work in such a way that, if a customer of mine is picked up by the police and questioned, the customer can honestly say: “I visited a tea shop. I ordered a Vialanese black tea.” If the police are suspicious, they’ll raid the shop and the packet spells will disappear and all they’ll find is exactly the environment that was described to them.
Stirrup Street is similarly protected; the Raven’s Attic would never be raided, lest they intend to arrest the King and the Prime Minister and half the members of parliament and the police commissioner herself.
It’s the tea shop customers I’m most cautious of.
The university Magicians sometimes brew Lunaria for the police, but it’s a rare occurrence. ’
‘You don’t even like tea,’ said Dot.
‘No,’ said Theodora.
Silence.
Dot turned back to her books. She scoured the pages until at last something caught her eye.
It was an illustration of an Ancient Spirit that reminded her of the tiled creatures she had seen in Saint Penelope’s Cathedral.
Dot peered closer at the dark, ichthyic body of the Ancient.
She was certain, now, that she’d seen it before.
‘Theodora,’ said Dot, ‘may I borrow this one?’
Dot held up the book to her. The Spirits of the Bygone.
Theodora nodded. Dot looked through the rest of the tomes the witch had collected, but none piqued her interest like the image of the Ancient Spirit.
Finally, Dot pulled herself up from the carpet and handed the book to Theodora, who promptly tossed it into the air, magicking it back to Dot’s bedroom.
‘Last one,’ said the witch, and she once again threw out her hand and cast a portal. They stepped out into a wide courtyard of white stone and manicured hedges.
‘This isn’t the tea shop,’ said Dot, gazing up at the extravagant building. She knew those windows, had walked past the wrought iron gates. Dot glanced about at the bear-skinned hats of the guards and the tourists beyond the fence, who, having spotted them, called and waved little Calléan flags.
‘Last stop,’ clarified Theodora. Her coat had changed.
Now, the witch wore a resplendent purple smock and onyx beads.
Her waved hair was wrapped in a silk hat.
‘No portals inside the palace, I’m afraid.
Courtesy of my wards for the king. We’ll have to climb the steps and check in with the footman at the door. Oh, Dorothy – hold on a moment.’
Theodora waved her hand over Dot’s clothing.
Dot’s shoes softened into embroidered slippers.
Her skirt lengthened into a fine lace. The cotton of her blouse turned to silk.
Theodora hastened up the steps and Dot followed her into the palace foyer where she briefly caught her reflection in the mirror: her eyelids black and vampish, and her lips a deep, vermillion red.
Dot almost jumped at the sight of it. She looked like a different person entirely.
‘What was the point in me saving my wages for clothes?’ asked Dot. ‘You could have conjured me some.’
Theodora eyed the guards beside the gilt doors. The witch whispered, ‘The charm will wear away, but not before we’re done.’
She led Dot up to the grand staircase where a purple-robed footman stood beside a lectern.
‘Grand Magician Valiente,’ he said, bowing his head. He had a strawberry-blond moustache so thick it looked like a shoe brush. ‘And whom is with you?’
‘My assistant,’ said Theodora. ‘Eleanor Knox.’
‘Magician Knox,’ said the footman to Dot. ‘Both of you will place your hands here.’
He opened a heavy, leather-bound book to the middle.
Dot and Theodora had before them pages 342 and 343.
Theodora placed her hand promptly against the left-hand page.
She nodded at Dot, who copied her and placed her hand on the right.
A flash of light shot out from the parchment and distantly Dot heard the chiming of magic.
‘All in order,’ said the footman, taking the book away and closing it with a snap. ‘Proceed, Magician Valiente and Magician Knox.’
Theodora smiled gallantly and led Dot up the staircase. ‘An object-bound warding charm,’ explained the witch. ‘It checks that the visitors to the palace are without disguise or false names, and ensures no ill intent toward the King.’
‘But,’ whispered Dot, slowing as she climbed the stairs. ‘Valiente? Knox?’
‘Not unlike the library wards,’ said Theodora with a glint of mischief, ‘I added some additional parameters. They’ll never know. They can’t read runes.’
‘But the bewitched book does work?’
‘Of course,’ said Theodora. ‘They showed us page three-hundred-and-something, didn’t they?’
‘What are the other pages?’
‘The people with ill-intent,’ said Theodora. ‘Imagine how much Lio would whinge if he were stuck in a leaf of parchment instead of a comfortable tea shop.’
The pair now traversed a decadent hallway. The windows overlooked the palace grounds and, distantly, Dot spotted the spires of Saint Penelope’s Cathedral.
‘Why are we here?’ asked Dot.
‘I need my opera glasses,’ said Theodora. ‘We should be in and out in a flash.’
The witch led her deeper into the palace, down several long hallways, each as exquisitely decorated as the last until finally they halted before an olive-green door.
‘One moment, Dorothy.’
Theodora slipped into the room, and as she did so Dot hastened to glance inside, but the door was shut as quickly as it was opened, leaving Dot in the hall alone. For the first time, she felt a stab of annoyance at the witch. Dot knew almost nothing about her, she realised.
With each passing moment, Dot dwelled deeper. Why didn’t Theodora trust her? What was the witch up to? What was so inferior about herself that she had to be excluded? Was it her inability to do magic?
Dot was so consumed by this that a pompous, booming voice caught her utterly unaware.
‘Who is this delightful creature?’
The owner of that voice stood before her. He had wiry limbs and pug eyes and a jade-encrusted crown atop his head. King Ellarde Custre IV.
Two female guards shadowed him, both wearing purple.
‘What is your name?’ asked the King of Calléum.
What had Theodora said to the footman?
‘Knox,’ said Dot, quickly. And, when the guard on the right-hand side glanced pointedly at the ground, Dot gasped and bowed.
‘Adorable,’ said the King and he seemed prepared to leave her there until he spotted the oddness of Dot’s hand and paused.
He stared for a long moment, as if his eyes were tweezing each scale off her.
He peered back at one of his attendant guards.
‘Bring our guest to the menagerie when he arrives.’ The taller of the two guards bowed and left.
Then, to Dot, the King said, ‘And you, strange creature, will come with me.’
‘Oh,’ said Dot, ‘I’m waiting for Th—Valiente. The Grand Magician. She is my mistress.’
‘She will follow,’ said the King, taking Dot’s afflicted hand and placing it on his arm.
She winced as his too-warm skin touched her cold scales, and soon she was guided down the halls, regretting more and more that she had not thought to shout for Theodora.
At last, they came to a large room filled with strange bird cages.
Each enclosure was crafted of fine lacquered wood and thin bars, and they hung from the ceiling or else were scattered upon the dark, luxurious carpet.
There were no windows here. It smelled intoxicatingly of wood polish.
Dot glanced at a birdcage in the centre of the room and to her horror, realised that it was far too big for a bird. This was a cage for a person.