Jinx's Magic (19 page)

23

Jinx's Magic

T
he Bonemaster led Jinx to a heavy wooden door. “Won't you go in?”

Jinx put his hand on the latch. But instead of opening the door, he felt his way into the room with his mind. There were no colored clouds of emotion in there. He searched harder—no wiry golden ball of knowledge either.

He turned to the Bonemaster. “There's nobody in that room.”

“Ah. Unexpected powers, eh? So you know there's nobody in there? But, as it happens, you're wrong.”

“What is in there?” said Jinx. “Because I can tell it's not Simon.”

“And again: wrong. Open the door.”

“Stop playing games and tell me what you've done with Simon.”

“Open the door.”

Jinx clenched his free hand around the hilt of his broken knife. He felt the fire inside him—and he felt, also, the other power in the castle. Deathforce power. It came from the Bonemaster's recent murders. He reviewed quickly the few spells he knew—levitation, fire, door-locking, concealment (not much use here) . . . oh, and KnIP, of course.

He lifted the latch and opened the door.

The room was in darkness. The Bonemaster shoved Jinx inside, followed him, and shut the door. Jinx felt a door-locking spell snap into place. The Bonemaster lit a candle and handed it to Jinx. The candle flame grew brighter and brighter, until it lit the whole room. . . .

. . . Which was mostly filled with an enormous slab of ice. It stood on end and reached nearly to the ceiling. Through it, Jinx could dimly see the curtains and the window on the opposite side of the room.

“What's this supposed to be?” said Jinx.

“What you insisted on seeing.”

“This isn't Simon,” said Jinx. “It's ice.”

“One problem with young people,” said the Bonemaster, “is their tendency to make snap judgments.”

Jinx went closer to the slab. He could feel cold radiating off it. He saw tiny bubbles deep in the ice. He reached out a hand and touched it.

There was a loud
crack
and Jinx was thrown across the room, the candle flying out of his hand. He hit the wall and lay there for a moment, trying to figure out whether he was dead.

“Ah. I should have mentioned. It's best not touch it,” said the Bonemaster.

The wizard summoned the candle from where it had fallen, lit it, and set it down on the floor.

“When you're feeling up to it,” he said, “do have another look.”

Jinx got shakily to his feet. He glared at the Bone-master—the knives were whirling in the wizard's thoughts and dripping blood, gently. The Bonemaster smiled. “Whenever you're ready.”

Jinx approached the ice slab again. When he'd touched it, it hadn't felt like ice. It hadn't been wet. And it didn't melt or steam. It had felt like a cold beyond cold—a cold from the other side of death.

Cautiously, Jinx walked around to the other side. Now he could see the Bonemaster and the candlelight, blurrily, through the slab. He walked around to the front again. So okay. So it was a big slab of ice.

The knives in the Bonemaster's thoughts twirled in a rhythm Jinx was beginning to recognize as amusement. Jinx started back around the thing again. There was no—

Wait. What was that?

“Ah. You see it, do you?” The knives spun more quickly, flashing like flames.

Jinx shifted his head slightly. You had to look from exactly the right angle. It was the figure of a man, life-sized, and—Jinx jerked his head back in surprise, and then had to shift around to find the right place to look again. It was Simon. He was standing on one foot, his arm raised, as if he was running forward and trying to throw something—or cast a spell?

He was slightly transparent.

“What did you do to him?” Jinx demanded.

The knives in the Bonemaster's thoughts had slowed and were flashing different colors now, a lazy display that reminded Jinx of one of Simon's cats, purring.

“I shifted him slightly. He's no longer quite here.”

“He's not dead!” Jinx said.

“No? Interesting. What does his homunculus look like, back home in the bottle?”

Jinx glared at the Bonemaster. “It is not interesting. Bring him back.”

“But why should I? He tried to harm me. Quite foolishly, because I've bound his death to mine. And yours, of course. He seemed to think your death wasn't part of the deal, but it is.”

“He knew that,” said Jinx. “Knows it, I mean.”

“He seemed to think he'd undone it in some way. Really, he has an insufferably high opinion of his magical abilities. And with very little—”

“Shut up!” said Jinx. He drew his broken knife. “Bring him back or—OW!”

He dropped the knife, which had grown red hot, and looked down at his burnt hand. Then he charged at the Bonemaster and punched him in the stomach.

The Bonemaster fell back, hitting the door with a clunk. Jinx jumped on him. Or tried to—he hit an invisible wall. The Bonemaster had thrown up a ward. Jinx tried KnIP—he
knew
the ward wasn't there—but the ward stayed. And a second later he was flying up to the ceiling, where he stuck.

He struggled. His clothes were frozen. The ceiling was about ten feet up from the floor and if Jinx managed to wriggle out he'd fall a long way—and have no clothes on.

The Bonemaster got to his feet and glared up at him. “That is hardly the way to enter into negotiations.”

Jinx fought an urge to spit on him—it wouldn't help. “Let me down.”

Jinx was just above the door. And outside the door, he realized suddenly, was a green glow that he had always associated with Elfwyn. He wondered how long she'd been standing there.

He felt his way into the Bonemaster's spells. He knew levitation, of course, and he could see now how clothes-freezing worked. He couldn't undo it, though—the fire inside him was no match for the Bonemaster's power.

He could sense the golden sphere of Elfwyn's knowledge, outside the door.

“Let me down,” Jinx said, more loudly.

“Unfortunately this seems to be the only way in which we can have an intelligent conversation,” said the Bonemaster. “Or intelligent on one side, at least. Do you wish me to bring Simon back?”

“You're going to tell me I have to bring you his bottled life.”

“No, no. I thought of that. But you would refuse, of course. After all, once he's completely dead, you would inherit—oh no, I forget. There's a wife of some kind, isn't there?”

“What do you mean by ‘completely dead'?” Jinx was getting very uncomfortable hanging up here.

“Well, some would say he was, in a sense, very nearly dead now.”

“And now you're going to tell me you can bring him back if I give you the bottle,” said Jinx.

He had a sinking feeling the Bonemaster really was going to kill him. It was hard to tell much about the feelings of a person whose thoughts were made of cutlery, but there seemed to be a flipping back and forth, an indecision. As if the Bonemaster hadn't quite decided whether to kill Jinx or not.

He thought
Elfwyn, do something!
But of course she didn't hear him.

“If you won't bring me the bottle, then there's very little reason for me to keep you alive,” said the Bonemaster. “I'm sure you understand.”

Jinx tried
knowing
that Elfwyn could hear him, and tried thinking at her again.

It didn't work. You couldn't do just anything with KnIP, apparently. There must only be certain spells.

His shirt was starting to feel tighter. Probably because he was hanging from it.

He was having difficulty breathing.

“Of course, there's an outside chance you could do something worth Simon's life,” said the Bonemaster. “But given that you'll undoubtedly refuse—”

Jinx had a sensation of strangling. Beneath him, the Bonemaster became blurred and fuzzy. White flashes appeared on the edges of Jinx's vision. He tried to call out, to yell for Elfwyn. He summoned all the breath he could and managed to gasp out “EGGGGhhh . . .”

The green glow outside the room turned to purple alarm. Elfwyn pounded on the door.

“Bonemaster! Bonemaster!” she yelled.

The Bonemaster turned and frowned at the door. Jinx felt the strangling sensation increase. He managed to draw on the fire inside himself and unlock the door. It burst open and Elfwyn stumbled into the room. She ran up to the Bonemaster and grabbed his robes. “Come quickly, there's a—”

She stopped and looked up at Jinx. Her thoughts pulsed purple and red terror, which just for a second showed in her face. Then she said in a bored voice, “Haven't you killed the boy yet, Bonemaster?”

“Never mind the boy,” said the Bonemaster. “I told you not to interrupt me.”

They were both starting to look like dark blurred shadows to Jinx. What was the Bonemaster doing to him, and how could Jinx undo it? Desperately he groped his way into the Bonemaster's spell. . . . It was one he'd never seen before.

“Oh, but I broke a retort,” said Elfwyn. “And I spilled some of that acid that you said eats flesh? And I— He's turning purple, Bonemaster.”

“Yes, well, he's very stubborn, my dear,” said the Bonemaster.

“I don't like purple,” said Elfwyn. “Couldn't you put his shirt back like it was?”

His shirt! That was it, the Bonemaster was shrinking Jinx's shirt, squeezing the life out of him. Quickly, Jinx used KnIP. He
knew
that his shirt was the size it had been before. It didn't work. Thinking fast, he
knew
a slash down the front of his shirt. He felt the fabric give slightly, but the slash failed to appear.

With his dimming vision, he could see the golden wires of Elfwyn's knowledge, wound all around her. He reached for her knowledge, and drawing on both it and his own, he
knew
that his shirt was torn right down the front.

That worked. He could breathe again. His tunic kept him from falling.

“How interesting,” said the Bonemaster. “What an unusual spell. Now, my dear, have you manufactured any other disasters that I'm meant to come and inspect when I'm in the middle of an important conversation? If not, I suggest you leave us.”

Jinx hoped she wouldn't.

“I wanted to watch you kill the boy,” said Elfwyn.

The Bonemaster's knives sparked pink suspicion again. “I haven't decided whether to kill him. And I had rather thought you were fond of him, my dear, when you were here last summer.”

“Oh well, that was ages ago,” said Elfwyn. “Boys are boring.”

Jinx was too out of breath to object to this.

“Undoubtedly, my dear. But this one has access to important knowledge, which I want.” The Bonemaster frowned up at Jinx.

Jinx wondered whether to set him on fire. He decided against it—the Bonemaster could put the fire out, and then he might start the clothes-squeezing thing again or do worse things.

“These books you've read about the bottle spell. I assume they're in Samara?”

Jinx didn't say anything.

“I want the books,” said the Bonemaster. “You'll get them for me. And you'll bring me books about Samaran magic as well. Let's say—oh, how many books do you think there are?”

“I don't know.” It sounded like the Bonemaster was going to let him go.

“Bring me all of them, then,” said the Bonemaster.

“And what do I get?” said Jinx.

“Your life. But since you will already have taken that and gotten far away—Simon's life, as well. Will three days suffice?”

“Suffice for what?” said Jinx.

“To go to Samara, fetch the books, and return.”

“No,” said Jinx. “I need five days.”

“You haven't got five days. You have three days. No time for hatching little plots and schemes. You go to Samara, you fetch the books, you return here.”

“It'll take me a day and a half just to get back to Simon's house.”

“Indeed? That's where the portal to Samara is located? How interesting.”

Drat. “And then I need one day to apply for entry into the library,” Jinx improvised. “And one day to apply for permission to remove the books.”

“Magicians don't ask for permission.” The knife blades wavered, considering. “Four days. You have until Tuesday.”

Jinx thought about what would happen if the Bonemaster learned KnIP. The Bonemaster had a large golden ball of knowledge, much more than Jinx did, though Jinx hadn't been able to draw on it for his spell. It hadn't been touchable somehow. With KnIP the Bonemaster would be even more powerful and even more deadly. Was it right to give the Bonemaster more power, just to get Simon back?

Stupid question. Of course it wasn't right. And of course Jinx was going to do it.

Or at least agree to it, till he could think of something else.

“All right,” he said. “But I'm not actually going to give you the books until you show me you've got Simon.”

“I have already showed you.”

“I mean alive. I mean you bring him alive, to me, at Simon's house, in four days, and I'll give you the books then.”

The Bonemaster looked up at Jinx dangling from the ceiling. “You're in no position to make demands.”

“And I want to take Elfwyn with me,” said Jinx.

“I think you'll find she doesn't want to go,” said the Bonemaster. “You'll bring the books here, and I will examine them. And if I find that they are genuine, that they are informative, and that they don't explode, then I will release Simon to you.”

Jinx pretended to consider this for a moment. “All right.”

The knives purred again. “Elfwyn, my dear, fetch him down.”

 

“I would invite you to stay the night,” said the Bonemaster, “but under the circumstances, it's best if you set off at once.”