Jinx On The Divide (26 page)

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The head cook looked him up and down and said, "What do you know about cakes?"

Cakes were Grimspite's weak point. As a sinistrom, he was much more interested in fish and meat; his book hadn't dealt with desserts at all. "I can do a sparkle sorbet," he said, hoping he could remember the method. He'd done one for Betony once, because she really liked them. It was one of the simplest of magical puddings: pureed fruit with a delicate crust of sugar frosting that tinkled like wind chimes as you ate it, and flickered from pink to green and back again.

"Not exotic enough for the acting thane," said the chef. "He's given me this recipe for soft icing, and I need a cake that will do it justice."

"Acting thane?" queried Grimspite.

"Snakeroot. He's much harder to please than Squill. He's come up with all these cakes I've never heard of. I mean -- Macaroons, Battenbergs, Madeiras. Have you ever heard the like?"

"Never," lied Grimspite, knowing that only Snakeweed could have asked for cakes that had originated in another world. "Sorry. I'd have to do some research. How long have we got? What I mean is -- where's Snakeroot? If we knew where he'd gone, we might have some idea when he'd get back." Grimspite knew this line of questioning was clumsy, but he couldn't think of anything else.

"He's visiting the southwest quarry, the one on the other side of the glacier. He didn't say when he'd be back, but the

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day after tomorrow is probably a good bet. What do you suppose a Bath bun is?"

"Something you eat in the bath, I suppose," said Grimspite.

"And rock cakes?"

"You've got me there," said Grimspite. "I'm obviously not right for the job. Thanks for interviewing me, anyway." He made his way to the exit, and as he went through the door and out into the courtyard, he saw the chef wrinkle his nose and look mildly puzzled.

Ironclaw was hopping up and down and squawking excitedly when Grimspite got back to the perching rocks. "Thirty trillion, four hundred and ninety-seven billion, five hundred and ninety-eight million, nine hundred and sixty-eight thousand, nine hundred and ninety-three," he said.

Grimspite looked blank.

"Thirteen to the power of thirteen!" squawked Ironclaw.

"It's significant, is it?"

"No," said Ironclaw. "It's just ever so
big."

I'll never understand him,
thought Grimspite. He told Ironclaw what he'd found out, and they took off and reached their destination by sunset.

Ironclaw turned his magnifying vision onto the quarry as they approached, and was surprised to see that the fence surrounding it was, in fact, a hedge -- and a very strange hedge, too. Its spiky leaves were completely devoid of snow. He looked more closely. Each leaf was a vicious crescent moon of

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shiny dark green, as sharp as a sickle, and there were thorns on the branches. "I can't cross this," he said. "It's a predator hedge. It's feather-proof. A fire-breather might be able to get over it, since it's covered with scales, but brazzles and triple-heads and carrionwings would hit an invisible barrier and crash to the ground. Amazingly high security for what is, for all intents and purposes, just a quarry."

"Never mind," said Grimspite. "Wait for me behind that rocky outcrop. You'll be sheltered from the worst of the weather. I can get through the hedge if I revert to my four-legged form."

"What are you going to do once you're on the other side?" asked Ironclaw.

"Finish the job I started six moons ago," replied Grimspite, with steely resolve. "I should never have left Snakeweed alive."

Scoffit and Goodbody arrived in Andria as night fell. Goodbody had never seen the sea before, so Scoffit took a quick flight around the bay to let him see how extraordinarily big and remarkably wet it actually was. Then she flew back into town and landed at the main crossroads. There was no point in going to the library now -- it would be closed for the night. There seemed to be a lot of activity in its vicinity, however, and Scoffit saw that the road to the library had been cordoned off. A couple of wise-hoofs were walking around carrying clipboards and looking officious. One of

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them glanced at Scoffit and said, "No flying over the library after sunset."

"What's going on?" asked Scoffit.

"There's been a major theft," said the wise-hoof.

"What, books from the library?" Goodbody was incensed. "Is there no decency left in the world?"

"Not books," said the wise-hoof. "Statues."

"Statues?"
Scoffit laughed.

"It's not funny. Five of them vanished, just a little while ago. Big statues, too. It's a complete mystery."

Scoffit and Goodbody parted company, and Scoffit flew out of town to the perching rocks -- which were very up-market and not what she was used to at all. Goodbody spent the night at Bedstraw's Lodging House, worked his way through most of the menu, drank too much fermented fertle juice, and threw up. He was cramming in as many bodily experiences as he could. The following morning, he had a headache, which wasn't anything near as much fun. Bedstraw gave him an herbal infusion, which helped enormously, and by the time he'd had breakfast and met up with Scoffit, he felt a lot better. They flew to the library, and landed on the gravel path outside.

Neither Scoffit nor Goodbody had ever visited the library. They stared in amazement at the sprawling one-story building, which was set in extensive grounds. The landscaped gardens were dotted with statues, with little paths weaving between. A team of cuddyaks was grazing the lawns to the

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consistency of velvet, and the sweet peppery scent of purple peribott was everywhere. Spring had arrived in Andria, and the contrast with the bleak snowy landscape around Yergud was very marked. A lesser spotted tease was singing somewhere in a lace-petal tree, among frothy white blossoms and clouds of coral butterflies.

Brad Goodbody surveyed the building itself with a mixture of disbelief and awe. It seemed to have crept outward from some central point while no one was watching, unplanned and unregulated. "It is magnificent," he declared, admiring the way it was composed of such strange, asymmetrical shapes. "My own library is but a fertle seed compared to this, the fruit itself."

"They've built a new wing since I was here last," said Scoffit. "It looks like a pair of lungs."

"There is beauty in offal," agreed Goodbody.

"That's not exactly what I meant," said Scoffit. "I wonder whose statue used to be on here?" she added, kicking an empty plinth with her foot.

The main door of the library burst open, and an irate brazzle charged out. "What do you think you're doing?" she squawked, her feathers flat with fury. "Isn't it bad enough that the magnificent statue of Flintfeather has disappeared, without you adding insult to injury by kicking his pedestal?"

Scoffit looked at Goodbody, and Goodbody looked at Scoffit.

"Sorry," said Scoffit.

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"I haven't seen you around here before," said the female, her voice losing none of its severity. "You'll need a ticket if you want to take out any books. Who are you?"

"Brad Goodbody. And you are?"

"Professor Thornbeak."

"Fuzzy's mother?"

The brazzle's demeanor changed completely. "Fuzzy? You've seen Fuzzy?"

"Indeed," said Goodbody. "She is as smooth and glossy as a fried quaddiump's kidney."

"But not as dead, I hope?"

"She is very well," said Goodbody. "She's escorting some humans back to the Divide, then she's coming straight here."

"I see," said Thornbeak. "Have you seen anything of Ironclaw on your travels? Big brazzle, always looks a mess ..." She seemed about to add something, but a second glance at Scoffit's less-than-perfect plumage stopped her.

"He's gone to Yergud with Grimspite," said Goodbody. "To straighten things out. It looks as though Squill's decided to retire, now that Snakeweed's back. Though he's calling himself Snakeroot, and pretending to be his own brother."

"Snakeweed?"
Thornbeak lashed her tail. "I think you'd better tell me everything. Come into my office."

She led the way into the building, and along innumerable book-lined passages until they reached a door with her name emblazoned on it in gold. Once inside, she offered Goodbody a chair, and Scoffit one of the three branches that were affixed

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to the wall. They were all beautifully carved and, without a doubt, genuine antiques.

"This library is amazing," said Goodbody. "I'm something of a bibliophile myself...."

"Really?" said Thornbeak.

Down on the beach, five figures skipped in and out of the waves.

"Doesn't this feel good?" said a brittlehorn, rolling in the sand.

"Wonderful," agreed a small-tail, kicking a stone into the water with his cloven hoof.

"What do you think turned us back into ourselves?" asked a diggeluck.

"I think it must have been a powerword," said the biggest of the five, a brazzle. "I don't see what else could have done it."

"This is going to rewrite all the history books," said a wise-hoof, whisking his rump with his tail. "I only got turned to stone a couple of decades ago, so I know what's been going on." He looked at the brazzle and grinned. "When you turn up, alive and well, it's going to cause a lot of trouble."

"Why him in particular?" asked the diggeluck. "Because he's the most famous of all of us. His name's Flintfeather."

"Ah," said the brazzle. "There's something I think you ought to know...."

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***

15

***

Grimspite had sat on his haunches for some time in the snow, on the wrong side of the predator hedge, thinking about how he was going to reach Snakeweed. He would have to be very careful. The only things that could cross a hedge like this were fire-breathers, because they had scales rather than fur or feathers. He knew that if he broke any of the branches as he pushed his way through, the weeping sap would glue him to the plant -- and the more he struggled, the tighter the trap around him would close. He gave himself a good scratch (which always improved his morale) and set off at a trot around the perimeter, looking for a weak spot. Even with Grimspite's exceptional night vision, the task was a difficult one. He peered into the hedge time and time again, looking for a way through, but all he could see were twisted and tangled branches, and a dark mass of interlocking sickle-shaped leaves. This was really a job for Scoffit -- she'd have been immune to the sap. On the other hand -- or paw -- she

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wouldn't have been able to rip Snakeweed apart the way a sinistrom could.

In the end, it took Grimspite all night.

When he finally found a place where the hedge was thin enough to squeeze through, it didn't actually take him all that long -- and when he emerged on the other side, he just stood and stared. The stone being quarried here was pink marble. Closest to him, chipped and irregular chunks of it were piled up, all higgledy-piggledy, covered with a fresh dusting of snow that made them look like lumps of flesh coated with sugar. Farther to his right, there were slabs of it stacked in blocks, presumably waiting for transportation.

The walls of the quarry were sheer, and there were naturally occurring cracks in the rock. Into these, wooden pegs had been driven. There were a lot of empty buckets lying around, and after a moment or two, Grimspite figured out what they were doing -- pouring water onto the wooden pegs to make them swell, so that eventually they split the marble of their own accord. It was the sort of thing that was taught in stuff studies at school.

He spotted a little sentry house, made of logs, with smoke issuing from a chimney. A fire-breather was curled up outside, asleep. The snow around it had melted, and the veined pink-and-white marble beneath looked like slices of smoked grunt-beast. Next to the sentry house was a bigger log building -- probably an administration center. Was Snakeweed in there, going through the accounts? Grimspite trotted over to

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the building and peered through the window. There were rows and rows of cabinets, a few chairs, and a couple of desks -- but that was all. He turned his attention back to the sentry house.

Two japegrins were sitting by a fire, toasting buns, but neither of them was Snakeweed. Grimspite considered going inside and asking them whether they'd seen him anywhere, but he decided to use that as a last resort. Seeing a sinistrom in the flesh -- or smelling one -- tended to have an alarming effect on some people. Going rigid with fear and paralysis of the vocal cords were popular reactions. Torture sometimes overcame this, but Grimspite had given up torture some time ago.

He carried on with his inspection of the rest of the quarry, and discovered some tunnels. This looked more promising. The first one he tried didn't go very deep, nor did the second. But the third one had a shaft that went vertically down, deep into the ground. There was some sort of metal contraption as well, and Grimspite suddenly realized he was looking at the pulley of an elevator. How bizarre. Magic carpets were usually used as elevators -- you didn't need to go to all this mechanical bother. He peered into the shaft, but he couldn't see anything. He looked around for a bell, but there wasn't one. How did you get the cage to ascend, then? He was pretty sure this was where Snakeweed had gone -- there wasn't any other answer, for the fire-breather hadn't left the compound.