Jinx (2 page)

Jinx stood with the hat in his hand and looked at the claw marks in the moss at his feet. Then he looked between the trees where the trolls and his stepfather had disappeared. The Urwald had swallowed up Bergthold as if he were no more huge and terrifying than a rabbit. The smell of rotting meat still hung in the air.

And then Jinx had the thought that to the forest, Bergthold was nothing, or just a very small thing. He didn’t matter at all in the great green sea of life that was the Urwald.

It was as if the idea had come from the trees themselves. Well, maybe Bergthold was nothing to them.
They’d
never been hit by him.

“What’s your name, boy?” said the wizard gently.

“Jinx.”

“And mine is Simon,” said the wizard. “So that was your stepfather, was it?”

Jinx nodded.

“Had he brought you into the woods to abandon you?”

“Yes,” said Jinx. “Our house was mine, but it burned down. And there’s a new baby.”

Jinx didn’t expect sympathy, never having had any before. But he was a little surprised by Simon’s reaction—the news that Jinx was being abandoned made the wizard smile. There was a little blue glow of satisfaction with the smile.

Jinx was relieved that wizards’ feelings were as easy to see as other people’s. He had learned to watch people very closely, and to listen carefully. He assumed that everyone did this and that everyone could see what he saw.

“I don’t expect you’ll miss him very much,” said the wizard.

Jinx shook his head no. He wouldn’t. Bergthold was mostly a red cloud of anger that led to beatings. But now what?

“Do you come from one of the clearings?” Simon asked.

Didn’t everybody? Jinx nodded.

“What’s it called?”

“Called?”

“Doesn’t your clearing have a name?”

“I don’t know.” Other clearings had names. Jinx had never heard his own clearing called anything.

“Could you find your clearing again?”

Jinx shook his head no.

“Excellent,” said Simon.

He reached out a long, thin hand to Jinx. Jinx had never even seen a wizard before, and now a wizard was sticking a hand at him.

“Do you want to come with me?” said Simon.

It had started to snow. Night was drawing in, and Jinx heard stealthy rustlings like suppressed laughter in the forest all around him. The wizard had saved Jinx from the trolls. But had he also called the trolls?

“Why didn’t the trolls take me?” said Jinx.

“They didn’t see you.”

“Was that magic?”

“Of course. Shall we go?”

Jinx knew he couldn’t survive alone in the Urwald once night fell. But wizards—wizards were dangerous.

“Are you the Bonemaster?” Jinx asked. The Bonemaster was the only wizard Jinx had ever heard of by name. Everyone in Jinx’s clearing was terrified of the Bonemaster, though no one had ever seen him.

“No. I am not the Bonemaster. I am just Simon Magus.”

“The Bonemaster sucks out people’s souls with a straw,” said Jinx. “Do you?”

“I have some bad habits,” said Simon. “But that is not one of them.”

“Do you eat people?” said Jinx.

“Certainly not.”

“Do you kill people?”

“Very seldom. And never small boys.”

The wizard’s thoughts were green and blue, and they slid around each other, shifty and secretive. But they weren’t red and angry, and that was something. And the Urwald loomed, ready to swallow Jinx as easily as it had his stepfather.

“It’s nearly dark. Are you coming?” Simon held out his hand again.

Jinx made his choice and took it.

A
nd that was how Jinx came to live with a possibly evil wizard and twenty-seven cats in a huge stone house that stood alone in its own clearing, protected by invisible wards that kept monsters out but let some very strange visitors in.

Just how strange, Jinx found out that first night, after he and Simon had finished a very satisfactory dinner of bread, cheese, pickles, jam, apple cider, and pumpkin pie.

They were sitting at the kitchen table on top of the big stone stove, which filled half the kitchen and was just pleasantly warm underfoot. Onions, dried apples, and pumpkin hung from the rafters overhead. There were cats everywhere, lying on barrels and shelves—there was one curled around the water pump.

“No more pie for now, boy—you’ll make yourself sick,” said Simon.

“What are you going to do with me?” Jinx asked. He believed that the wizard probably didn’t eat people, since his house was full of much better things to eat. But he figured Simon must be planning to use him for
something
… probably something evil.

“Right now? Send you to bed. Tomorrow, put you to work,” said Simon.

But there was a part of Simon that seemed to hide from what he’d just said, as if it wasn’t the whole truth.

“Are you going to send me to kill your enemies?” said Jinx.

“No, I think I’ll spare my enemies that terrible fate.”

Jinx was annoyed at being laughed at. “Anyone who takes me in dies.”

“I expect they do eventually,” said Simon. “But I doubt you hasten the process. You really think if I sent you to the Bonemaster, he’d drop dead?”

The Bonemaster was a formidable enemy to have. Jinx was relieved to hear he wouldn’t be expected to deal with him. Still … “I do have a curse on me, though.”

“You don’t have a curse on you. Put that nonsense out of your head.”

“Why aren’t you afraid of the Bonemaster?” said Jinx.

“How do you know I’m not?”

“I can see it,” said Jinx, surprised at this question about something so obvious. Everyone’s thoughts glowed green fear whenever the Bonemaster’s name was mentioned. It was the same bottle-shaped blob of terror for everyone, as if the fear of the Bonemaster had come to all of them in exactly the same way, as exactly the same thought. Which was odd, because usually different people had different-colored thoughts.

“
You
should be afraid of the Bonemaster,” said Simon. “Whatever happens, don’t ever go near him.”

There came a banging at the door.

Simon muttered a swear word and went to open it. Jinx trailed along behind him.

Outside, the night was purple. A tornado of snow blasted past and left behind a woman standing beside a butter churn, grinning.

“Dame Glammer. Welcome,” said Simon.

“Dame” was a title for a witch, just like “Magus” meant a wizard. Jinx stared. The witch stared back. Her small, sharp eyes seemed to be laughing at Jinx. Her face had a lot of nose to it. Her hair was a wild nest of gray pinned on top of her head anyhow with two long knitting needles. She unwrapped herself from several wet cloaks and piled them into Jinx’s arms.

“This little chipmunk looks good enough to eat, Simon! Where’d you get him from? Is he your very own?”

A wizard and now a witch—worse and worse. Jinx glanced at the door. Outside was the Urwald, the snow, and the trolls. Inside, two magicians.

“His name’s Jinx,” said Simon.

“How darling! It’s an awful night for traveling, Simon, even with the butter churn.”

“I suppose you’d better stay, then,” said Simon, with a brown puff of annoyance that didn’t come into his voice. “Sit down, have some cider. Jinx, come and help me make up the spare rooms.”

Jinx followed Simon up the ladder to the loft to get blankets and sheets. “Never go through that door, Jinx,” said Simon, pointing to the far end of the loft. “It’s a straight drop to the ground.”

They made up a bed for Dame Glammer at the bottom of the north tower. Then they went up the spiral staircase, with cats weaving around between Jinx’s legs trying to trip him up. Simon dropped the armload of blankets on the bed.

“I suggest you make that bed and get in it,” said Simon. “Good night, Jinx.”

Jinx decided not to take Simon’s suggestion. He had to find out what these two magicians were up to. For all he knew, they were plotting to turn him into a toad and cook him up in a magic potion. He crept back downstairs, holding his breath for fear of being heard.

Simon and the witch were looking at a little pile of dried-up twigs on the table.

“I thought wormwood was poisonous,” said Simon.

Poison?

“Oh, it is,” said Dame Glammer. Her black eyes flashed up at Simon eagerly. “But it makes you fly, this kind.”

Simon made a doubting gesture with his lips. “People can’t fly.”

“All right, makes you think you’re flying.”

“What use is that?” said Simon.

Dame Glammer laughed, then leaned back in her chair, scattering cats, and swung her feet up onto the table. She wore a many-colored patchwork skirt that came down just over her knees and no further, so her legs in their thick woolen stockings showed to the world. Simon frowned at the feet, but the feet and Dame Glammer ignored this. She took a deep, satisfied swig of cider, and a mustache of foam stuck to her lip. She wiped it off with the back of her hand.

“You take things too seriously, Simon. Sometimes magic is just for fun, you know.”

“No.” Simon took a sip of cider and didn’t elaborate.

“I don’t think even the Bonemaster can make flying potion,” said Dame Glammer.

“He can’t.”

The witch didn’t have that green flash of fear at the Bonemaster’s name—she had nothing. With a start Jinx realized that he couldn’t see any clouds around her at all. He’d never met anyone with invisible feelings before. That made her even more dangerous.

“It’s like history repeating itself, isn’t it?” said Dame Glammer. “You’ve gone and found yourself a nice little chipmunk to gobble up, just like
you
were gobbled up by—”

“Nonsense—gobbled up! I’m right here in front of you.” But the words came with jagged orange consternation.

“Where’d you get him from, anyway?” said Dame Glammer, nodding at the doorway where Jinx was standing.

“He came along,” said Simon. “Didn’t I tell you to go to bed, boy?”

“What’re you going to use him for?” she asked. “If you’re not going to—”

“He’ll work for me. He’ll keep the house clean,” said Simon, with another pointed glance at Dame Glammer’s feet.

“Good eating on children,” said Dame Glammer. “I had a boy and a girl just this past autumn. Parents left ’em in the woods … well, you can imagine. I bewitched the house to make it look like gingerbread—”

So that was how they did it! Jinx had always wondered why witches didn’t have a problem with animals coming to eat their gingerbread houses. And what happened when it rained.

“That’s not funny,” said Simon. “You’re scaring the boy.”

“Oh, I didn’t really eat them! Just made ’em think I was going to.” She cackled.

Jinx thought probably she really had.

“I’m not giving you dragon scales for that,” said Simon, nodding at the wormwood. “It’s not reasonable, Dame. You know I have to buy them direct from the dragon.”

Dame Glammer grinned. “Why not give me the boy?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Saving him for the Bonemaster?”

“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.” He nodded at the wormwood again. “Are we trading, or not?”

“What will you give me?”

“If you show me how to brew the wormwood, I may give you an ounce of cinnamon.”

“Very well.” She swept the twigs into a red polka-dot kerchief.

“Come into my workroom. You can show me now,” said Simon.

There was a heavy oaken door in the wall opposite—Jinx supposed it must lead to the other tower. Simon went to it, then stopped and turned around.

“Everything in the south wing is off limits, Jinx. My rooms are back here, and you are not allowed in them. Understand?”

Jinx was immediately seized with a desire to see the off-limits rooms.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because there are dangerous things in here, and because I said so. Now go to bed. And don’t lie awake worrying about the gingerbread house—it’s not true.”

Simon went through the heavy oaken door, leaving it half open for Dame Glammer to follow. Jinx inched forward, eager to get a look at the forbidden rooms. He caught a glimpse of a cold stone hall, and dark shadows dancing in flickering torchlight. But before he could see any more, Dame Glammer darted forward and grabbed him by the chin.

“You seem like such a sweet little chipmunk. Such a shame a wizard’s gone and gotten ahold of you.”

Her hand squeezed his face. Jinx jerked his head away, freeing himself.

“Don’t you wonder what he’s going to do with you?”

“He said he wants me to work for him.”

“Shall I tell you what he really wants you for?” The witch grinned, and Jinx couldn’t tell if she was teasing him. Her thoughts remained frustratingly invisible.

“Tell me,” he said. He was more curious than scared.