by I stared in disbelief at the stupendous tower looming out of the misty remnants of what had appeared to be an impregnable mountain. Absolutely had been, in fact; had I not stood upon it myself, not long ago? Had there not been a door set into its side? My mind reeled at the power and complexity of such an illusion. What had Torvaston wrought, out in the wilds of this wondrously magickal Britain?
And damn me if the entire thing wasn’t built out of starstone, to boot. Like Melmidoc’s spire. I couldn’t be sure until twilight, of course, when it would most probably develop that distinctive blue glimmer. But the way the white stone shone pearly in the sun looked awfully familiar.
‘Go,’ Miranda said, shoving the compass into my hands.
I hesitated, looking at Pup, who was questing in circles around my feet. ‘Will you look after—’
‘Take her with you,’ Miranda said. ‘Never know what she’ll find.’
How true that had repeatedly proved. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘Follow when you can.’
I took off running, Jay pounding along at my heels. The tower was built upon a rocky promontory of considerable height; as we drew nearer, I saw that the stone “lift” was still there, still poised to ferry visitors up to the door some sixty feet above ground level. The structure was of an architectural style I had never before seen, and it’s hard to coherently describe. The doors and windows were narrow and tall, with pointed arches; a little gothic, but bigger, archier, airier, and curlicued. The conical roof crowning the tower spread unusually wide, and ought to have been top heavy, but the effect was somehow graceful. As for the body of the tower, it had the look of a building that had once had straight walls — until someone impossibly large had taken hold of the top, and twisted it into an elegant spiral.
‘I’d have thought it would resemble Farringale,’ I said to Jay as we approached the lift, both our necks craning to keep the impossible tower in view.
‘It resembles nothing I’ve ever seen,’ he said, awed.
I gazed up and up as the lift carried us skywards. Far above, the griffins wheeled and turned around the pinnacle of the tower, just as though it were a mountain still. I braced myself as we neared the door, in case any of them should object to our approach. But they drifted on, serene and oblivious.
The Wyr-tree still stood at the top. I felt a moment’s dismay upon beholding it, for though Wyr’s continued disablement was mighty convenient, I began to wonder how long he would remain in the shape of a tree. The past day or so, it was like I’d been handed the keys to a formula one Ferrari when I was used to a twenty-miles-per-hour moped. I had no idea what I was doing with these deep, strange magicks, and it was quite possible I had condemned Wyr to eternity as a tree.
Annoying he might be, but he didn’t deserve what was effectively death.
‘Leave it,’ said Jay, noticing the direction of my gaze. ‘If it’s a problem, we can work on it later.’
‘Right. Fair.’ We faced the tall, slender doors of the impossible tower. My heart hammered in my chest, and for a moment I could barely breathe. We’d made it. Torvaston’s greatest work stood before us, and somewhere inside was the artefact that might save Farringale. And the rest of British magick into the bargain.
‘Ready?’ said Jay.
‘No, and neither are you. But we’re going anyway.’
When we advanced upon the doors, they opened themselves and swung slowly inwards upon noiseless hinges.
Magick pulsed through the floor in waves, making me shiver. I wrapped my arms around myself and strode onwards, undaunted. ‘Strong stuff here,’ I said to Jay. ‘You’re going to have some trouble.’
‘I can take it,’ said Jay grimly, and I reflected that he’d looked cute with horns.
If he had survived Vale, he could cope with Torvaston’s tower. And if not, I’d just have to be brilliant in some unguessable way, and fix him.
No problem.
Jay and I fell silent as we went through the doors, too awed — and too wary — to speak. Beyond lay a huge hall, its walls hung with long tapestries depicting some kind of courtly scene. Troll figures, of course, and royalty, judging from the jewels and the crowns.
‘Farringale,’ Jay said. ‘I recognise that one.’
He pointed, and I saw at once what he meant. A troll lady wearing a seventeenth-century silken gown and decked in jewels stood before a backdrop I knew at once for the great library at old Farringale.
‘That one,’ I said, nudging Jay. On the opposite wall, a proud-looking troll king posed in a throne room. I’d seen that crown before. ‘Torvaston himself?’ I suggested.
‘I don’t know why I don’t have twenty-foot-tall portraits of myself in my hallway,’ said Jay.
‘Opportunity missed,’ I agreed.
‘There’s still time.’
Pup did a speedy circuit of the hall, nose to the ground, tail wagging. I watched her in case she picked up any interesting scents, but she did not appear interested in anything much; she returned to me, and sat grinning. ‘Pup,’ I said. ‘Find the thing.’
‘Try being a bit less specific, if you can,’ said Jay. ‘You’re not being quite confusing enough.’
‘The thing,’ I said. ‘The magickal silver thing, the— oh, curse it. What do you suppose Torvaston called it?’
‘The Work in Progress,’ said Jay.
‘The Saviour of Enclaves and Britains,’ I said. ‘Find the Saviour, Goodie.’
She sat, tongue lolling, and panted.
‘We’re on our own.’
Jay’s smile faded as he looked around the echoing hall, and took in the number of doors leading off into parts unknown. ‘Much as I would love to explore every inch of this place, it would take us about three weeks.’
‘Which we don’t have,’ I said, watching him carefully for signs of magickal disorder. ‘You’ll be scrambled egg inside of twenty-four hours.’
‘There is that. Also, Ancestria Magicka apparently knows about this valley, thanks to Wyr. They’re bound to show up eventually.’
A point I had forgotten, in all the turmoil. Where were they? The last I’d heard, Fenella Beaumont — and an unspecified number of her associates — had been banished from this Britain by an irate Melmidoc, and sent to… one of the others. Had they managed to return?
If they had, where were they?
If they hadn’t… how long would it be before they did?
‘We need to be long gone before they show up,’ I said.
‘You think?’
‘Right. Where in this town-sized tower might Torvaston hide his priceless life’s work?’
‘Judging from the look of this hall, the tower had some ceremonial function; it wasn’t just a workshop,’ said Jay. ‘So not in any of the central areas, most like.’
‘Nowhere ornate, and dripping in gold.’ That would disappoint Goodie. ‘Cellar, or attic?’ I suggested, thinking of Home, and particularly of Orlando. There was something of a precedent for hiding the crazy stuff in one or the other of those two.
Jay pointed up. ‘Griffins,’ he said succinctly.
‘Yes. Where better to develop, and test, a griffin-substitute than in the middle of a gigantic griffin nest?’
Jay sighed, and squared his shoulders. ‘Why do so many of our missions come down to invading griffin lairs and praying we don’t get eaten?’
‘That’s actually quite new,’ I said. ‘Terrible timing on your part.’
‘No griffins on past missions?’
‘Not too many, no. Ogres and unicorns and alikats, though. Some of them rabid.’
‘Yours is an interesting job.’
‘Our job, Jay.’ I set off towards the nearest door, Pup trotting along beside me. ‘Stairs. Help me.’
‘Stairs, or an elevator, like outside?’ said Jay. ‘Why bother climbing when you can have magickal uplift?’
‘What’s the betting the roof can only be accessed by a secret lift at the top of a secret lift at the top of a secret lift?’
‘See, that’s what I like so much about you,’ said Jay, checking and dismissing a few more doors. ‘Your relentless optimism.’
‘What can I say, years of practice… oh, here we are.’ A long corridor lay beyond one of the doors, at the end of which loomed the kind of alcove that had way up written in some indefinable way all over it. Exquisite, of course, but it had the look of an elevator shaft about it. Straight-sided, symmetrical, blank. Stone floor.
I started down it. Pup, developing one of her random fits of enthusiasm, broke into a run and barrelled on ahead of me.
And vanished in a puff of mist, halfway down the passage.
I stopped dead in shock. ‘Goodie?’ I called.
Nothing moved.
‘Where’s she gone?’ said Jay, catching up with me.
‘I… don’t know. She vanished.’ I advanced slowly upon the innocent-seeming spot on the floor that had whisked Goodie away, and stood just shy of it. I couldn’t see anything that might explain where she had gone, or how. The floor was smooth, pale starstone, like everything else.
Jay shrugged. ‘Only one way to find out.’
‘What way is that?’ I said, hoping he had some sliver of esoteric knowledge I’d missed. After all, he was our resident expert on unusual and spectacular modes of magickal travel.
‘Channel our inner Ves,’ he said. ‘And hope for the best.’ With which words, he took a step forward, and planted his feet squarely upon the mischievous stretch of floor.
‘Jay—’ I said, reaching for him.
My hand closed upon empty air.
I rolled my eyes skywards. ‘What,’ I said under my breath, ‘have I done?’ I’ve created a monster.
Or an evil twin.
Ah, well.
I took a step forward of my own, braced for impact.
There wasn’t one. I wafted away on a wisp of mist, lighter than air, and disappeared into the depths of Torvaston’s tower.
