Like Windows in a Ship
Disclaimer: I don't own Howl's Moving Castle, so don't take me to court ...
A/n: As much as I'd like to take credit for the "windows in a ship" metaphor ;-P, it's actually from some random document that I found saved on a public computer at school. I don't know who wrote it, but they amused me enough that I apparently managed to turn it into fanfic.
"Why Sophie, it's beautiful!" Howl exclaimed. He leaned back against his pillow while holding the necklace up so that it dangled just above his face. "How in the world did you guess that I wanted a clear freeform fire opal pendant on a white gold chain?"
"I haven't a clue in the world," Sophie put on a mystified look. "It couldn't possibly be because you've dropped 127 hints about it in the last two weeks."
"127! Oh, how you hyperbolize!" Howl declared, incredulous. "And you accuse me of exaggeration!"
"Don't you try to deny it now," Sophie snorted. "I kept a tally, if you must know."
With that, she rolled over and reached across the bed in order to open the drawer of the nightstand. From inside the drawer, she grabbed a small scrap of paper and shoved it under Howl's nose—it was completely covered with tally marks.
"Oh," he said. Sophie fancied that he looked as though he was feeling a bit guilty.
"Well, that settles it," Howl tossed the paper away so that it landed amongst the bits of wrapping paper strewn about the coverlet. "You have far too much time on your hands, Mrs. Jenkins. I'm going to have to start giving you more spells to work on. Or perhaps—" Howl leaned forward and pulled Sophie into a kiss. "—we should work on other things."
"I'm sorry to say it, but I'd much prefer keeping a tally of your faults," Sophie told him, her forehead resting against his. "But it's possible that I might be persuaded to work on these 'other things' that you speak of … if you were kind enough to show me a bit more about them …"
Sophie moved to kiss him again, but Howl sat up abruptly, slipping out of her arms so that she had nothing left to hug but his pillow.
"Not so fast," Howl wagged a finger at her reproachfully. "This is a holiday, and on holidays, you must open presents first, and then do work later, not the other way around."
Sophie flopped over onto her back and sighed heavily. In the spirit of tallying Howl's faults, she thought to herself: Fantastic. Not only is he a coward, a slitherer-outer, a spendthrift, a narcissist, and a cad (albeit a reformed one)—now he has to be a tease as well!
"Are you coming? Or am I going to have to carry you?" Howl had already gotten out of bed and was now standing by the bedroom door.
"My legs work fine, thank you very much," Sophie informed her husband, still not moving.
Howl began to retrace his steps towards the bed—apparently he was going to make good on his threat of carrying her. And so with a considerable amount of effort, Sophie dragged herself out of her warm cocoon of blankets, carefully lowering her feet so that she didn't step on any of the trinkets or gadgets or books that perpetually littered the floor.
Sometimes she had the feeling that Howl's clutter was bewitched. No matter how many times she organized it, no matter how many times she instructed it to stay on the shelves or in the drawers—even when Howl wasn't messing with it, it always managed to make its way back onto the floor. Really, even the spiders were better behaved.
But Sophie wasn't too worried about the clutter just now. As she threw a robe over her nightgown and followed Howl into the hallway, what she was really worried about was what kind of present he had in store for her. It wasn't that Howl didn't give good presents—on the contrary, he gave wonderful presents—they were presents that obviously took time and effort (and money and magic), and they were romantic, and they were unique, and they were … well … a little over the top.
Okay, they were way over the top.
Take Sophie's birthday, for instance. Howl had given her a lovely pair of mother-of-pearl combs to put her hair up with, a gift that she had been quite pleased with. But then on top of that, he also had to summon an entire troupe of faerie minstrels to perform for her ("They're quite popular with the Tylwth Teg," Howl had informed her, as if she was supposed to know what that meant). And then he had insisted on hiring a group of brownies to clean the castle so that she wouldn't have to do it herself anymore. That had turned out to be quite an interesting disaster, albeit one that must be saved for another time …
And then there was Christmas. Again, Howl had started off splendidly by giving her a new silk gown. But then there were the green and red birds that he bewitched into flying in a formation that spelled out the words "Merry Christmas" ("They're quetzals—I conjured them up all the way from South America," Howl had told her proudly). And then there was the snowstorm that he raised. He had intended it to give Market Chipping a light dusting—just enough to create that winter wonderland effect. But not even Howl Jenkins can control the weather (if he could, it would never rain in Wales again), and they ended up buried in four feet of snow.
Perhaps I'm being ungrateful, Sophie thought to herself. But it wasn't that she didn't appreciate all the effort that Howl went to, it was just … well … it was just that these elaborate gifts gave her the feeling that they weren't really for her at all, and that they were just an opportunity for him to show off.
A strange mix of anticipation and dread churned in Sophie's stomach as Howl led her down the stairs. What would it be this time? Perhaps Howl had invited Cupid himself over, and at any minute now she would get shot with an arrow …
Sophie gasped involuntarily as she entered the main room of the castle, all thoughts of Cupid and arrows suddenly driven from her mind. A circle made out of some clear material—crystal, perhaps?—was floating in the middle of the room. And it was rotating. Slowly but surely, it turned about on some invisible axis as it hovered in midair. And as it turned, it caught the sunlight that was streaming through the castle windows. It caught the sunlight, again and again and again, it caught the sunlight, and it glinted and it gleamed and then it threw that light across the walls. It reflected the light and it refracted the light—speckling the walls with rainbow flecks—streaking the walls with burning, flowing tails of molten sunshine—painting the room with a slowly spinning kaleidoscope.
For a long time, Sophie was hypnotized—so hypnotized, in fact, that she would later wonder whether the thing had been casting a spell on her. But for the time being, she simply watched the crystal circle as it spun. It was like watching the ocean waves rolling in and out.
"Well, what do you think?" Howl finally asked, breaking into her trance.
What did she think? It was peaceful, it was mesmerizing, it was beautiful, it was … wait, what the heck was it anyway?
"I'm confused," was Sophie's response. "What is it?"
"It's a symbol of our love!" Howl exclaimed, gesturing dramatically.
"Ohh …" Sophie racked her brains, trying to make a connection between this floating circle and her relationship with Howl. For once, she didn't want to hurt him by letting on that she didn't understand—this thing was just so perfect … perhaps it really had ensorcelled her …
"Don't worry," Howl laughed. "I wouldn't expect you to understand, unless you were a sailor perhaps."
"I understand it completely, Mr. Know-It-All!" Sophie frowned at Howl, hands on her hips, having misinterpreted his statement as being condescending. "It's … it's …"
"Sophie, let me explain," Howl laughed some more, and gently steered her closer to the rotating circle. "This has to do with a little something that I learned while I was in Porthaven. Actually … Michael, you can help me out here."
Sophie forced herself to look away from the luminous circle and saw that Michael had entered the castle. He was wearing his best blue velvet suit, and in his hand he held a single, perfect rose. No doubt he had been getting ready to go off and see Martha. At the moment, though, it also seemed as though he had been ensnared by the circle's hypnotic powers. His mouth was agape, and he was still holding the castle door open. Outside, beyond Michael's frozen form, the Waste drifted by slowly, its flowers bobbing in a gentle breeze.
"Umm," Michael shook his head as if to clear it of a haze. He stepped inside and allowed the door to shut. "I don't know how I can help with—"
"Michael, why don't you explain to Sophie why the windows in a ship are round," Howl instructed his apprentice.
"Oh! That's easy!" Michael beamed with relief. "The windows in a ship are round becauseround windows arestronger than rectangular windows."
"Exactly," Howl turned back to Sophie. "You see, the circular shape of a ship's windows provides greater structural integrity. The corners of a traditional rectangular window wouldn't be able to handle the strain and stress of a ship at sea."
Sophie looked at the shining circle, then at Howl, then back at the circle, the whole time wearing a hopelessly perplexed expression on her face.
"I thought it was a suitable metaphor for our love," Howl continued cheerfully. "Our love is round, like the circle," Howl gestured towards his hovering creation. "Or like the windows in a ship. It's strong enough to last through all manner of strains and stresses and storms. It isn't vulnerable like the more traditional heart-shaped love with its structurally unsound corner."
"In other words, this whole production is one big euphemism for the fact that your marriage is one big argument," Calcifer crackled from between his logs, grinning mischievously. He must have been watching the entire time, but once more, the symbolic circle had prevented Sophie from noticing his presence.
"Euphemism or no, I like it," Sophie announced. "Just promise me one thing, Howl."
"Anything for you, cariad," Howl hooked an arm around her waist and drew her into him.
"Please don't write any poetry using that metaphor about circles and windows in a ship," Sophie pleaded.
"Too late for that!" Howl grinned impishly. "Do you honestly think that I would let such a brilliant metaphor go to waste?"
"But it's so much better in visual form!" Sophie made an exasperated gesture towards the prismatic circle before groaning and allowing her head to fall against Howl's shoulder.
For better or for worse, he did love to write poetry for her. And half the time it was actually quite moving. The rest of the time, though, he concocted such ridiculous compositions that Sophie was sure that he was simply trying to annoy her …
"Now let's see. I didn't write it down, but luckily I've kept it quite safe in my head," Howl cleared his throat in preparation for this impromptu poetry recital.
Sophie did the only thing she could do to stop him. She reached up, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and kissed him. Hard.
Michael decided to get going before this display of affection intensified. He turned the knob on the door so that it was yellow blob down, and stepped out into the streets of Market Chipping, his heart racing slightly the way it always did when he thought of Martha. Calcifer also took this kiss as a cue to be on his way, and so he shot up the chimney with an exuberant whoosh. As much as he liked to be grossed out by the mushiness that punctuated Howl and Sophie's never-ending quarrels, he had better things to do today—like sneaking up behind young, happy couples and scaring the daylights out of them. If he was lucky, he might even be able to pull a prank on Michael and Martha …
As for Howl and Sophie, now that the exchange of presents had been completed, they finally got to work on those "other things" that Howl had spoken of.
And all the while the crystal circle spun, casting opaline patterns across the castle walls, and thinking to itself that it must be very unpleasant to be heart-shaped and to have a structurally unsound corner.
More a/n: Tylwth Teg -- the Welsh version of trooping faeries.