by ‘Let’s think,’ said Jay. ‘Hidden Ministry aside, the Goldnoses are still banned in virtually every magickal community there is. It is no mean feat, then, to breed them in spite of the law, and to keep it going for so long. It also takes considerable courage to consistently flout a law which carries such severe penalties for disobedience. Somebody really, really wanted those pups.’
‘Takes courage, or confidence?’ I suggested. ‘You might flout that law with impunity if you felt that you had the right people on your side.’
Jay blinked at me. ‘You mean somebody high in authority might be behind this?’
‘If not behind it, then at least willing to turn a blind eye — and perhaps to shield those responsible from the consequences, should their activities ever come to light.’
Jay nodded thoughtfully. ‘Worryingly plausible. Or, it’s the responsibility of some group who felt they had power enough in themselves to ignore the general disapprobation.’
‘Maybe it’s somebody like us, who falls under the jurisdiction of the Hidden Ministry and therefore is not, technically, acting illegally.’
‘But if the Ministry only dates from the late seventeen hundreds, and the pups had already passed out of all knowledge by then, who bridged that gap?’
‘Fair point. Perhaps the Ministry isn’t the only organisation that hasn’t enacted such laws. Mauf?’
‘All officially recorded and recognised magickal organisations had agreed upon, and enacted such laws, by 1731,’ said Mauf.
‘Official?’ said Jay. ‘Are there unofficial ones?’
‘It happens on occasion. They do not tend to last long, however.’
Which made sense. Setting up your own unsanctioned magickal state and proposing therefore to consider yourself above all magickal laws was not exactly widely supported behaviour. The usual consequence would be exactly as that enterprising band of spriggans discovered in 1727 — a speedy dispatch to prison, or something worse. It would be like buying your own island, declaring it an independent country, and expecting every other country in the world to nod, smile and pat you tolerantly on the head while you proceed to set up a factory for nuclear bombs on your tiny slice of paradise. This is not how it works.
But it doesn’t stop people from occasionally trying.
‘I wonder if some rogue magickal state has somehow gone undetected since the early eighteenth century?’ I mused aloud.
‘It isn’t impossible,’ said Jay. ‘Not quite.’
‘It is highly unlikely,’ I agreed. ‘And perhaps we’re thinking too big now.’
‘A smaller operation would have the greater chance of success,’ said Jay. ‘The bigger you are, the more noticeable you tend to be.’
‘Some smaller operation with an incurable lust for treasure?’ I suggested.
‘Why else would you brave all dire consequences to keep a Goldnose handy?’
I nodded. ‘I think Milady is right. Somebody needs to have a quiet talk with the spriggans.’
Valerie needed to have a quiet talk with Mauf, too, and so did Miranda. His casual revelation that the Dappledok Dell had been responsible for at least eight rare and desirable species of beasts required immediate investigation. I left the book at the Library, pausing only to relay enough of our findings to thoroughly electrify our sedate and dignified Boss Librarian. So energised was she, she almost tore the book right out of my hands.
I left them chatting cosily together, or so I hoped. Knowing Val, it would soon turn into an interrogation.
My next plan was to hustle back up to Milady’s tower to relay Mauf’s findings — and to see if the guide she had mentioned was here yet. I wanted to be on the road already, for little good ever comes of delaying something important. The sooner we talked to the spriggans of Dappledok, the better.
But I was distracted — twice.
I was halfway up the main stairs when I heard Miranda’s voice calling me. I turned back. She had just come through the great doors leading into the east wing and was hastening towards me, her blonde hair half out of its ponytail as usual and a besmeared white coat over her jumper and jeans. A little dog trotted at her heels, and in spite of everything it still took me a moment to recognise my pup.
‘What do you think?’ said Mir, a bit breathlessly, as she came up to me.
I gazed at the pup. Instead of gold, her fur was now chocolate brown dappled liberally with purple, and there was no trace of the little horn that had adorned her forehead. She now had two horns instead, slightly thicker ones, nestled behind each of her pointed ears. Her nose had shrunk, and turned to an unobtrusive black colour.
In other words, she was a gorhound.
‘Wow,’ I said intelligently. ‘That’s amazing.’
Miranda nodded. ‘They’re good, aren’t they?’ she said, presumably referring to whichever of our illusionists had worked on the pup.
‘Amazing,’ I said again. So amazing, in fact, that for a brief, wild moment I wondered whether some switcheroo hadn’t been performed, and the tiny Goldnose wasn’t now languishing in some hidden nook in the east wing while I was fobbed off with a different creature altogether.
I squashed those ideas very quickly. What reason did I have to distrust Mir? None whatsoever. The illusionists really were that good, that was all.
When the gorhound puppy trotted up to me and rubbed herself all over my leg, my doubts vanished altogether. ‘Hi, pup,’ I said, and bent to pat her.
‘Pup?’ said Miranda. ‘Doesn’t she have a name?’
I know I have been referring to her as my pup for a while now, but I knew full well that she was no such thing. She was under my care for a little while, that was all, and if she had taken an obvious shine to me, well — what did that matter? No one was going to leave so rare, so valuable and so, er, illegal a beast with me for very long.
So I had not had the presumption to name her. It seemed wiser, somehow. If I did not name her, maybe I could refrain from getting too attached to her.
Hah.
‘Pup works just fine,’ I said, declining to explain all of this to Miranda.
I think she understood anyway, though, for she gave me a smile of unexpected sympathy and said, ‘Perhaps it does, at that.’
It occurred to me that Miranda had probably been in the same situation over and over again. How many beasts had she bred and raised herself, or rescued and tenderly restored to health, only to have to relinquish them into someone else’s possession? Or back into the wild? She would grow used to it, I supposed — to a degree. Her attachment to animals of all kinds was legendary at Home, after all.
Miranda gave me a salute and dashed off again, leaving the pup trailing around at my heels. We barely managed to climb four stairs between us that time before I heard the double doors of the front hall swing ponderously open, admitting a blaze of sunshine from outside. I say heard because they open with a groaning noise indicative of rusted hinges. They don’t have rusted hinges, of course; the House is far too well-maintained to permit of that. But no amount of persuasion, oil-based or otherwise, can convince the doors to stop announcing each new visitor with some unpromising noise or another. I’ve long since concluded that House does it on purpose. If any building could be supposed to have a sense of humour, it would be ours.
Anyway, when the doors groan like that — or squeal, or cackle, choke — it means someone of note has arrived, so I stopped and went back down the stairs yet again.
I might have been planning to go forward to meet whoever it was, but I swiftly revised all ideas of that kind and stayed firmly put. One judges it prudent, you know, with some visitors.
This one was most definitely of that kind. He was so tall, he had to stoop a long way to fit through the enormous doors, and he did not appear to find that an amusing process at all. He made it into the hall with some effort and stood, his short white hair brushing the high ceiling, looking down upon us puny humans with eyes the size of dinner plates.
All right, maybe not dinner plates. Afternoon tea plates, though, for certain. You could easily eat scones off those bright blue eyeballs.
He wore a long robe of blue cloth embroidered in gold, a white coat over the top, and (more puzzlingly, considering the weather) a pair of blue gloves. In other words, he made not the smallest effort to look like he belonged in any part of the modern world — but then, why should he? He was the size of about six humans put together.
‘Giant,’ I said faintly.
‘So I see,’ said Jay from behind me, startling me, for I had not noticed his approach. ‘Do we often get giants stopping by?’
I had to think for a minute before I could remember the last time. At least five years ago. ‘Nope,’ I said succinctly.
‘Right, then.’
The giant gave a long, windy sigh and said in lugubrious tones, ‘Why must the doors always be so small?’
I pondered that. House is perfectly capable of adjusting proportions at need — be it of windows, chairs, or, indeed, doors. That it had not chosen to do so — and, further, that it had chosen to announce the arrival of this giant with so peculiarly unattractive a groaning noise — suggested to me that House did not altogether approve of our visitor.
Interesting.
Jay and I were not the only Society employs standing, frozen with surprise, in the hall. The giant surveyed the lot of us one by one, and when nobody spoke, he said: ‘I am here to see Milady.’
There was no conceivable way he was going to fit in Milady’s tower.
‘Er,’ said Jay in an undertone. ‘That’s going to be interesting.’
But of course, Milady had anticipated this. ‘Welcome, Lord Garrogin,’ she suddenly said from somewhere disconcertingly close to my head. ‘We have been looking forward to your arrival.’
This, too, was unusual, and I could only answer Jay’s questioning stare with a shrug. Yes, it was also a long time since Milady had been known to manifest (sort of) anywhere other than her tower. Yes, that probably meant nothing good either.
What can you do.
‘Wonder if he’s our guide or the Truthseeker?’ whispered Jay.
‘The latter,’ I said instantly, and hoped I was right. Spriggans are not very tall. I collected that our guide was meant to be someone the spriggan courts might feel more comfortable associating with than a couple of humans, and I couldn’t imagine their welcoming the arrival of so vast a being as Lord Garrogin in any such spirit.
I was swiftly proved right, for Milady’s voice crisply announced: ‘Consultations will shortly begin. Cordelia Vesper and Jay Patel to the Audience Chamber, please.’
That’s Milady for you. For one thing, “Convention Chamber” is far too modern a term for her. She prefers “Audience Chamber,” as though those summoned were to be presented to some manner of monarch. For another, “consultations” sounds so much nicer than “inquisition”, doesn’t it?
‘Why are we first?’ whispered Jay to me as we dutifully headed for the Chamber of Gorgeousness.
‘Probably because we’re supposed to be on our way to Sprigganland already.’
‘If our guide’s here.’
‘He or she probably is, or they’re imminently expected. Milady doesn’t waste time.’
‘As evidenced by the prompt appearance of Lord Garrogin, Giant, from Parts Unknown.’
‘Precisely.’
Lord Garrogin was nowhere in evidence when we arrived at the Audience/Convention Chamber. Milady had probably taken him off for an initial briefing, and was overseeing the pouring of hot chocolate down his gargantuan throat at that very moment. The enormous Inquisition Room (as I would now have to think of it) was echoingly empty, though I was heartened to see that refreshments had been provided: the long, crystalline table running down the centre of the marble-floored hall was absolutely smothered in the refined sorts of dishes that come with polished silver covers. I knew they had tasty things inside them because the air was filled with an enticing medley of aromas.
This circumstance puzzled more than pleased Jay, however. ‘That seems… excessive,’ he said, nodding his chin at the laden table.
‘This is Milady, remember.’
‘And?’
I pulled out a velvet-cushioned chair at the bottom of the table and sat on it. ‘Well,’ I said, stretching. ‘There are probably two reasons for it. For one, Milady’s really very kind-hearted. I suppose she cannot predict how long each interview will take, and she would hate for us to get hungry while we suffer Lord Garrogin’s interrogation.’
Jay sat down next to me. ‘Hence enough food for about two hundred people. I suppose the dishes keep everything warm?’
‘Undoubtedly.’
‘All right. And what’s the other reason?’
‘Milady is almost as devious as she is kind. Well-fed people are comfortable people, and food puts almost everyone at their ease. The comfier you are, the less guarded you are, and that is probably going to make his lordship’s job a bit easier.’
‘Remind me never to underestimate Milady.’
‘Everyone underestimates Milady.’
Jay chewed his lip. ‘But doesn’t interrogation make for uneasy people anyway?’
‘Depends how good Lord Garrogin is.’
The heavy thud of approaching footsteps announced the arrival of our interrogator, and I wondered whether we ought to stand up. I decided not to.
Jay didn’t. And if he was going to politely get to his feet then that sort of meant I had to, as well. I stifled a sigh as I hauled my bones out of the chair again, and watched Lord Garrogin’s ponderous approach with, despite my sanguine words, a faint flicker of apprehension. He did make an imposing appearance, no doubt about that. And hadn’t I just said that Milady was devious? She had told Jay and me that we were not under suspicion, but that, too, might have been a ploy to put us at our ease.
I wondered distantly when I had become so fretful, and banished those thoughts. Time to focus.
‘My lord,’ I said as Garrogin reached us.
He nodded to us both, and made his slow way to the head of the table. The chair there was no larger than the ones Jay and I had been sitting in, but that did not last. As the giant approached, the chair twitched and swelled to four times its former size, and it wasn’t finished at that. Formerly a sleek, armless dining chair of some silver-coloured wood, it thickened and stretched until its silvery frame bore more of a throne-like appearance, complete with tall arm rests. Its blueish cushions became a rich purple just shy of royal in tone, and it even developed some kind of diamond jewel at the top of its arched back.
House had been Spoken To, I guessed. His Lordship was evidently to be pampered, and Milady had insisted. If there was a touch of the satirical about the excesses of that throne, who was I to judge?
Lord Garrogin — was he in fact some kind of minor princeling, out in giant territory? He could be, I supposed, and that would explain the throne — Lord Garrogin sat down, and the majestic chair bore his weight without a whimper. He sat for a moment looking thoughtfully at us.
Jay and I stared back.
