1.

It was the second morning after Michael and Martha's wedding, and the moving castle was uncommonly still.

The chairs, plants, and pulpit had gone, but the enlargement spell remained. The normal furniture huddled small and inadequate in the center of what was usually the sitting room. Calcifer complained that it was an ordeal to heat all of that empty air. Howl complained that Calcifer wouldn't know, as he hadn't bothered heating anything since Sophie had overworked him - to which Sophie coughed darkly and did not comment.

That was the extent of their conversation. Calcifer slept or feigned sleep in the grate while Howl and Sophie sat at the worktable, building their separate spells and scarcely looking at one another. The magically enlarged house echoed with the sound of their not-talking, with the ticking of the clock, and, sometimes, with the sputtering of a certain teacup.

Sophie was working on some sort of exercise from Howl's dustiest rudiments book, and she wasn't having much success with it, despite her diligence. The book said her teacup would sing ballads if she got the spell right; so far, it hadn't shown the inclination.

Sophie pursed her lips. She darted a look at Howl, who was concentrating on his larger, more complicated spell, and murmured, "You feel like singing, though, don't you, cup? I bet you have a beautiful voice. Do Howl's saucepan song for me, nice and loud."

The teacup trembled with life. It swiveled sharply in place before belting out in a confidant soprano, "Howl's saucepan song! Howl's saucepan song! Howwwwwllll's saucepaaaannnn sooooonnnnnggggg!"

Sophie tried to stifle it, but the cup slipped through her fingers. It tittered across the worktable and straight into Howl's spell-building mess, where a large bolt overturned it. Still it continued singing, even as it rolled off the edge and shattered on the floor. Each piece took up a voice then, such that a chorus of twenty competing sopranos sang of Howl's song's saucepan.

Howl ducked below the table. When he returned the cup to Sophie, it was whole again and silent. "It won't work that way," he told her. "You have to do it exactly as the book says."

"It's no use," said Sophie. "I can't work this one."

"Try it without cheating," suggested Howl. "The rudiments book doesn't like you to skip steps."

Sophie glared at the book. She pulled it close and pretended to read the exercise again, though she knew the procedure forward and backward. It involved a lot of complicated hand movements as well as "dutiful concentration." Sophie could wiggle her fingers perfectly well, but she couldn't seem to give the spell the attention it wanted.

Since breakfast yesterday, Sophie had had plenty of time to think about what they were planning to do. She had done so all night and well into the morning. Three weeks was an awfully short engagement. Was it improper? Would it cause much talk? Sophie wondered if people would think she had pressured Howl into marrying her because of her sisters, then dismissed the thought. The neighbors thought Howl to be a kind of fairy-tale creature. If anything seemed odd, they were more likely to chalk it up to him than to dear little Sophie, who was about as supernatural as a felt hat.

Thinking of hats made her think of Lettie. She had a flash of memory that involved her sister as a child, peeking crossly from beneath the rim of a large bonnet while Sophie sewed it. Lettie had seemed pleased that they would be married together, but would she resent it in the future? She had always loved to be the center of attention, and a bride ought to be on her wedding day. She shouldn't have to share it with anyone but her devoted Wizard Suliman.

Ben had been the most withdrawn yesterday. That wasn't exactly unlike him, but Sophie thought he'd seemed a little skeptical. Ben was awfully sensible. Perhaps he, like Sophie, was wondering how they were going to accomplish everything in three weeks. Perhaps he was wondering who would rush up the aisle with Lettie's wedding ring if they forgot it or whether they'd have to book the funeral organist.

Sophie's unfocussed eyes fell on the book Howl was using, and a word jumped out at her. She scanned the page, but it was difficult to see - the print got smaller as it went and Howl's arm was across some of it, but from what she could tell it looked like a spell to stop worrying. Now that was worth concentrating on. She wondered if it would be a lot more difficult than convincing a teacup to sing ballads.

Howl took his arm off the book and leaned across the worktable. Sophie jerked guiltily, but he only wanted her hand. Gently he eased each finger out of its white-knuckled fist until they each lay slack in his. "Now," he said. "Isn't that better?"

Sophie looked at their hands. She imagined what they would look like in three weeks with rings glinting and in forty years, when her wrinkles came back and Howl got his first set. She felt very warm, probably because Calcifer was now hovering at her shoulder, reading the teacup spell.

"What do you mean you can't do this?" he said. "They don't get much simpler unless you want to do charms. Maybe you should start her on charms, Howl."

A sudden banging at the door spared both them both from answering. Howl went to answer it, and Calcifer said, "Kingsbury door, I think."

It was. The man on the stoop was impressive and crisp in his red uniform and manicured beard, though the fine sparseness of the latter betrayed his tender age. He pulled a rolled bit of parchment from his bag and read, "For the Wizard Howl, from His Majesty," as if either the recipient or sender was in doubt.

Howl read the letter in silence. Sophie thought she saw an inkling of curiosity in his face and hoped she'd imagined it. If the king summoned him now ... well, it was a bad time for one of his errands, that was all. Their three weeks were quietly ticking away, and though she'd never have admitted it, the idea of tackling this project without him was daunting. Whatever face she made earned her a glance from Calcifer.

An eternity later, it seemed, Howl rolled the parchment up and returned it to the messenger. "Sorry," he said, "I can't come now. I'm going to be married in three weeks, and there's a lot to do. Please tell His Majesty that I'm unavailable until May second."

The messenger puffed up. He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but Howl gave him a coin and closed the door before he could. The wizard then returned to his worktable, seeming unaware of Sophie and Calcifer's staring. Sophie bent over the spell book so her expression wouldn't betray her to Calcifer, who was certainly hoping it would.

She shouldn't be so surprised. Howl had done the decent thing. He ought to be around to help with his wedding, in whatever capacity a man could. Had she really expected him to go with the messenger?

Well ... yes. She felt terrible for thinking ill of him, but that was just Howl, really. One came to expect that, given the choice, he would sooner run than face anything difficult. Doubtless planning the wedding would be difficult to do - yet here he was, sitting across from her and working with his spell as if the messenger had never come at all. Sophie smiled at him, feeling still guiltier, and said, "What did the king want?"

"What does he ever want?" said Howl. "It's nothing that can't wait three weeks."

"I doubt the king will see it that way," said Calcifer.

"He'll have to," said Howl.

Sophie caught herself sinking lower in her chair and straightened up, pushing the book away. "I think I'll have a break. Tea, anyone?"

"No thanks," said Howl. Calcifer only smoldered; Sophie could tell by the agitated way he was crackling that he knew something was up. She excused herself to the kitchen and filled her teacup with strong tea. As usual, they were out of milk to gentle it. Sophie drank, wincing, and wondered how long she could stay in the kitchen without arousing suspicion. She had often found herself thinking like that since Martha's wedding - about escaping temporarily and stealing time, or rather solitude, to think.

Calcifer and Howl were keeping quiet in the other room. This did not necessarily mean that they weren't talking in other ways, or that they weren't listening out for Sophie. She banged around a bit and hummed, set off an egg timer and poured the tea into the sink. She reached for the tap, thinking nostalgically of the water fights Martha and Lettie had had when Fanny made them wash after dinner.

There came such a ruckus, when she touched the tap, that Sophie thought she might have bespelled something accidentally: a woman's voice said, "My, what's that?" and Calcifer gave a warning shout, and several things crashed, cracked, and exploded in sequence.

Sophie flew into the other room, preparing herself for all sorts of magical disaster. Whatever she expected to see, it was not Fanny.

Her stepmother stood uncertainly by the worktable, where Howl's spell seemed to have combusted. At the sight of Sophie, her cheer and confidence returned to her. She said, "Hello, darling," and bustled over to kiss Sophie's cheek. Her arms were full of packages, which she declined help with and delivered smilingly to the sitting room.

Sophie stepped closer to the worktable. From the looks of it, there wasn't much of the spell that could be saved. Most of it had fallen apart, and what held together was singed black. Howl reappeared from beneath the table with an armful of pieces, obviously disgruntled, though Sophie couldn't tell who he blamed for it. "Bad timing," he said to her unasked question, and Calcifer said dismissively, "It wasn't a very good spell."

Sophie was trying to think of a way to prevent their argument when Michael burst through the front door and stumbled over a misplaced piece of metal. He wasn't much of a runner, but from the state of his hair he seemed to have run all the way across town.

"What is it?" Sophie demanded. "Is everyone all right? Martha?"

"Fine," panted Michael. "It's only that - that part you asked about, Howl. For your spell. I think I saw one near the palace."

"Good to know," said Howl. "Sit. Take a breath." Michael sank gratefully into the chair that drew out for him, and Sophie went into the kitchen for water. When she came back, Calcifer was gone, presumably to the hearth, and Michael seemed steadier.

"I saw Fanny, too," he told Sophie when his glass was drained. "I think she was at Mrs. Tailor's. Did you send her out for something?"

"No, but she's here now," said Sophie, remembering the fact herself. "I'd better see what she wants. Howl, will you please - "

Sophie stopped. The pieces of the puzzle fell into place all at once. It was obvious. Fanny had been at Mrs. Tailor's, but Sophie hadn't sent her. Lettie certainly hadn't either, as she was planning to wear their mother's old dress. It fit her best. Sophie had done the alterations herself.

"Will I what?" said Howl. "Sophie?"

Fanny had had a lot of bags with her... an awful lot of bags.

Sophie walked quietly through the hall and into the sitting room. What she saw there did not surprise her, though it amazed Howl and Michael; their questions trailed off and they stood speechless behind her. Fanny turned and beamed at the three of them, sweeping her small arms wide.

"Well?" she said. "What do you think?"