Characters this chapter: Howell, Sophie, Michael, Calcifer, Skull

Rating: K+

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A Woman True and Fair

Chapter 11: In which Calcifer prevents Howl from getting any sleep

Howell was so eager to get home that he walked right to the nearest closet, discreetly shut himself inside, and threw down a complex transport spell that deposited him right on his front doorstep. When he walked in, he made a beeline for Sophie, half tempted to throw himself at her and demand a hug of consolation. Howell certainly felt he deserved one after the day he'd had. Only Sophie could truly make things better. Sophie, or perhaps a large amount of chocolate.

When he drew near, Howell spied the reason Michael and Sophie had been so quiet when he'd come in. They were admiring a gorgeous chocolate cherry cake with whipped cream topping. Looking down at the box resting in Sophie's lap, Howell went weak in the knees. He'd got his wish; both of them. Chocolate was Howell's second Great Weakness. Sophie being at the top of the list of his first, it was unfortunate she was still old. The way he was feeling currently, Howell would gladly have swept both cake and woman into his arms and disappeared upstairs for the rest of the evening.

As Michael was leaning on the back of Sophie's chair, Howell stepped round in front of her to bend down for a better look. Catching a delectable whiff -- of the cake, not Sophie, who bore the unfortunate scent of floor wash and the aged -- Howell commented on it with enthusiasm. Marvelous cake was definitely his favourite kind; marvelous cake in Sophie's lap, even better. Howell asked her where she'd got it. If not for the box in which the cake was resting, he might have dared hope she'd made it herself. What a glorious dream! If Howell ever found out Sophie was capable of creating such confections, he would surely have to marry her on the spot, curse or no, whether she liked it or not.

Michael confessed to having bought the cake from the local baker's in Market Chipping, spoiling Howell's little fantasy, but not his appetite. Those little curls of chocolate were calling to him, and Howell's stomach prudently reminded him he had forgotten to eat all day (again). His eye roved the workbench in search of dinner as he chatted amiably to his companions. A respectable-looking meat pie drew him thither, and Howell made a joke as he examined it amid Sophie's abandoned cooking efforts. He really did not think the workbench the best place to prepare food, but he and Sophie had had that argument already (apparently, he had lost). There really were onions everywhere; one had even got into the poor skull's eye socket. As Howell tapped it out into the palm of his hand, he got the notion a bit of Hamlet might be amusing. Holding up the skull appropriately, he teased Sophie by addressing it regarding the mess spilled across the workbench.

Alarmingly, Yorick seemed to want to respond. Howell could not remember that bit being in the play. It would be just his luck that the poor chap to whom the skull had once belonged had not quite quit this world. Howell promptly set the skull back on the table, having no desire to add exorcism to his list of adventures of the day. If the skull wanted to speak, it was welcome to do so. To someone else.

Something of Howell's fatigue must have shown on his face, because Michael asked him what was wrong. His thoughts returned to the interview he had recently left and the fact the tiny Princess had only just rescued him from being royally appointed the task of locating Prince Justin. But it was merely a delay she had given him, not a reprieve. Howell wished he had the nerve to be less capable now and then. If not for his dreadful pride in his work, he would not be in this predicament. Oh why had he been blessed with this singular extraordinary gift? Why couldn't he have just been born talentless and incompetent, like all the other sorcerers in Ingary?

Perhaps, if the King were persuaded not to think so highly of him, he would change his mind about wanting Howell's help. What he needed was someone who could give a convincing performance on his behalf and advise the King against employing his services. He voiced these thoughts, and Michael – as he often did – misunderstood, thinking perhaps something had gone awry with the spell he had delivered earlier in the week. Feeling irritable, Howell toyed with the onion ring he'd recently extracted from the skull as he explained the situation more clearly, warning Calcifer of their danger. But Calcifer gave no reply.

Howell suddenly realised the house had been surprisingly devoid of the fire demon's crackled smart remarks ever since he'd returned home. With furrowed brow, he wandered over to the hearth and got down on his knees to peer into the grate. Calcifer was either asleep or pointedly ignoring him. After the row they'd had a few nights ago, Howell thought it better to have Michael try to rouse him. Beginning to feel on edge, he demanded that his apprentice do so, flapping his hands impatiently. But Michael had no better luck.

Throwing logs on top of the ash had no effect other than making the nonexistent fire smoke. Not a single curly green flame appeared. At this point, Howell's short supply of patience ran out, and he shouted for his friend to come out. When still there was no response, he turned to Michael, both perplexed and seriously disturbed. Having no choice left, Howell grabbed the poker from beside the hearth and gently prodded beneath the logs for the vicinity of his heart. He apologised for jabbing the fire demon with cold iron before commanding him to wake up. But something was terribly wrong.

A large puff of smoke wafted lazily up the chimney, as if the fire were a candle flame that had just been blown out. Calcifer finally did speak, but he sounded not at all himself as he mumbled at Howell to leave him alone. At least he knew the fire demon was still alive down there. But this was a first. What could have happened to make Calcifer so sluggish? Howell would have known if the Witch had found them and done something. So what was it? He asked Michael for any clues.

When it was Sophie who answered instead of Michael, Howell had a sinking feeling. She did have a special touch when it came to disaster. He turned around slowly, still kneeling, and demanded to know what sort of plague she had brought on his house this time. Sophie looked both nervous and offended at the question.

"Well, after you and Michael left this morning, there was a knock at the door," she explained, defensively.

So Michael had left Sophie to her own devices? No wonder things had gone to hell. Howell would have to have a little talk with Michael about leaving the castle while he was away. Clearly, their cleaning lady required a chaperone other than Calcifer.

"I answered it, in case it was a customer or either of you had forgotten something."

Howell had not known Sophie had been helping customers herself. Something else he would have to discuss with Michael.

She looked genuinely frightened, as she continued. "But it was that scarecrow, come to horrible life! It pawed at me with its stick arm, trying to get in! So I asked Calcifer to take the castle faster in order to lose it. We finally did, but by then Calcifer was tired. That's all!"

This story concerned Howell. It sounded stark raving mad. He had known from the start that Sophie's age was no glamour; it was quite genuine. And if it was real enough to affect her joints, it stood to reason that it was real enough to affect her mind. From the way Sophie was constantly muttering to inanimate objects, Howell had always thought she was a bit mad. And that was tolerable, perhaps even charming. But this was the first full-blown delusion she had admitted to, and it worried Howell quite a lot.

What he couldn't make out was how Sophie's delusion had sucked Calcifer dry. She must have bullied him again, somehow. This made Howell very angry. Bullying Calcifer into cooking breakfast or dinner was one thing. But bullying him into a stupour over an imagined danger was unacceptable. Howell knew well how Sophie's bossiness could get out of hand, but he had not thought her quite this ruthless. She protested that she had not bullied Calcifer, that the fire demon had exhausted himself of his own volition. Howell found that difficult to believe. Calcifer's selfish survival instinct was stronger even than his own. But mostly Howell argued with her explanation because he was worried it might have actually happened that way.

Unfortunately, the fallen star bore the burden of Howell's soft heart, which was currently frighteningly well-disposed toward Sophie. Taking that into consideration, it was quite possible Calcifer might have been unable to say no to a request Sophie had made of him, even had she demanded he jump over the moon. Howell felt somewhat responsible for leaving his friend in this vulnerable state, which made him feel guilty, which in turn made him even more irritable. Because Sophie was there, he took it out on her, snapping at her that they were resigned to a cold supper thanks to her bullying.

That was when Michael cut in to remind them that there was still the cake to enjoy, fire or no. That ended the argument with an audible rumble of Howell's stomach. Sophie pretended not to hear but set about preparing supper right away, taking her frustrations with him out on the onions through overzealous use of the paring knife. Howell went to the cupboard and shoved an apple in his mouth to prevent him saying anything else that might upset her. With little preparation to do, the meal was soon ready. Howell felt quite a bit better with some food in him, but he was still worried about Calcifer. He kept looking over at the hearth, willing those ominously unburned logs to catch fire.

They ate in silence, Howell feeling anxious about Calcifer, Sophie sulking because he had blamed her for the fire demon's state, and Michael desperately trying to think of a way to put things right again between them. Finally, when they had got to the cake and everyone felt better for it, he asked how his master's audience with the King had gone. Howell took advantage of being in the spotlight once more to mourn his impending doom of royal appointment. Naturally, Sophie had to interrupt and steal his thunder, insulting him, to boot. Howell insulted her right back, and then explained why being forced to find Prince Justin would be a Very Bad Thing™, considering the curse of one particularly vindictive lady which was searching for him at this very moment.

Unfortunately for Howell, Sophie was very good at reading between the lines, ferreting out what he had carefully omitted from the story. "You mean you jilted the Witch of the Waste?" Howell could not tell if she was awed by his romantic spirit in pursuing such a formidable woman or by his unsurpassed stupidity in having done so. Because he wanted to, he chose to believe the first. It upset him, however, that Sophie now knew of this unpleasant little tidbit from Howell's past. It was something he would have preferred to remain obscure.

Howell felt both depressed and defensive about this forced revelation. Another piece of cake was called for. "That is not the way to put it," he told her, trying to backtrack over his indirect confession and downplay it as much as possible. "I admit I thought I was fond of her for a time." Sophie did not need to know that he and Violet were so much alike, Howell had been almost certain – for a full two weeks – that she was "the one." But after those two blissful weeks of heartless togetherness, she had started to drop odd and disturbing hints into casual conversation, like musing on what Howell's brilliant head might be able to do on a more honourable body, and making suspicious remarks about how he might be the perfect man if only a few small alchemical changes could be made. After he had actually caught her taking measurements of his cranium one night when she thought him asleep, Howell's feelings had quickly cooled.

Still, he felt the need to defend his past affections, claiming for his excuse Violet's pitiable state, feared and alone in the desert as she was. He could not quite resist a parting jab at Sophie along the way. She reacted to his teasing predictably, and Howell met her furious glare with bright, eager eyes, only to have Michael interrupt and derail the glorious row Howell had been looking forward to having with Sophie all day, drat him.

But he stopped to consider Michael's question about moving the castle; it certainly wasn't a bad idea. Though how would Sophie feel about being taken away from Market Chipping, being as it was her home? Howell was selfish and cowardly, but he was not cruel. And he had no wish to make Sophie even more unhappy than she generally was to begin with. Apart from that, how would he ever get more of this glorious cake if they were no longer within walking distance of Cesari's? One thing was certain: it was no use planning anything until he was assured Calcifer would be all right.

Proving Howell's suspicions correct, Sophie spoke up, feebly reaching for an excuse to get him to leave the castle where it was. When she mentioned Lettie, Howell realised he had not thought of her sister once all day. Even thoughts of revenge had faded to the status of "too much trouble" in his mind. Thinking it should help in his future efforts to pursue Sophie if she knew she would not have to compete with her sister in his affections, Howell told her he didn't expect his attachment to Lettie to last long enough to prevent a move. But this did not seem to put Sophie's mind at ease; clearly she did not want the castle moved. By the way Michael was behaving, he was none to keen on the idea either, even though it had been his suggestion. Porthaven was Michael's home, Howell supposed, even if it had not been kind to him after his parents had died.

Given that two of the five people who mattered most to Howell – excluding himself, who always came first -- were not keen on the idea of moving the castle, he thought hard for an alternate solution. If only there were some other way to avoid the King. The castle's current setup had worked to avoid Violet's curse thus far, and Howell saw no reason to change something which had proven effective. His thoughts returned to his earlier idea of giving the King a negative reference. Now if only he could just find someone who despised him enough, but could still be convinced to do him a favour…

Howell's eyes roamed thoughtfully over the surface of the workbench, his uneaten forkful of cake, and the disappointed look on Sophie's face. As his eyes lit upon her, she scowled, no doubt from force of habit, and he suddenly had it. Yes, it was perfect! Howell gestured excitedly at her with his fork, as he announced his brilliant idea for her to blacken his name to the King. In spite of the fact this would give Sophie ample opportunity to express her displeasure with him, she did not look at all happy with his plan. Even the expression she was currently wearing proved Sophie was perfect for the job. Howell beamed at her across the table, thrilled with his own cleverness, pleased as punch that Sophie's hatred of him could be put to his own use, and tickled by the irony of it all. The woman he loved, going out into the world to denounce him for his faults and proclaim her hatred for him in order that he might be saved. His smile all but shouted his adoration of her.

Howell bolstered her lack of resolve by assuring her it would be an easy task for an experienced and skilled harridan like herself to bully the dumpling-faced King of Ingary. Sophie merely stared at him in silent protest. When a crimson flush slowly crept across her wrinkled cheeks, Howell's smile grew three shades brighter. He hadn't even known old ladies could blush, though he supposed he had never actively flirted with one before now. Howell felt incredibly gratified at this reaction from her, even hopeful. A whisper of lone birdsong echoed in the empty cavern of his chest. Only you, Sophie, he thought, could make me this happy by utterly despising me.

For the rest of the evening, Howell dillied and dallied about downstairs, willing Calcifer to be all right and basking in Sophie's silent and distant hatred of him. If only it had been a salon full of Sophies he'd met with this afternoon instead of those starved hyenas in hoop skirts. He waited until she and Michael were in bed before sitting down in front of the hearth and going into trance. Howell would not have been able to, had Sophie still been awake. Generally, he had too much nervous energy to be much good at meditation, and so he only did it when it was absolutely necessary.

It was now. Bringing his attention inward, Howell focused past the endless spin cycle of his thoughts and current worries and began to feed Calcifer. First, he poured out all of that nervous excess of energy that was flitting around, just looking for mischief to latch onto. When that was gone, he dipped into the reservoir of energy he kept on hand for emergency. If the Witch ever caught up to them, Howell did not want to be caught unawares with no spare energy on hand to defend himself. Big as his reserve was, Calcifer's need emptied it far too quickly. And still there were no flames on the logs, and no more light emerged from beneath the ashes.

Howell reached deeper within himself for more; he couldn't let his friend go out. Tapping the flow of energy around him, he concentrated on replenishing his personal supply of power as he spun out as much as possible to Calcifer. It was a delicate and complex balance to maintain. In spite of his best efforts, Howell soon became light-headed and drowsy. But he was determined to bring Calcifer back, and did not stop. Before long, he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. Lying down in the soft ashes, he fell asleep.

Down a dark well of unconsciousness, Howell thought he heard his father calling to him.

"Hywel."

Which was interesting, as his father had been dead for nearly ten years. Howell wondered, vaguely -- as you do in dreams -- if he should be concerned about this.

"Hywel, deffro."

Howell tried to tell his father he was not ready to wake up yet. But he was too exhausted to get the words out. His mouth would obey him no more than his limbs, which lay useless and rubbery against the stone floor.

"Deffro, Hywel."

And he was still not certain it was a good thing to be hearing the voice of a dead man, much less conversing with it.

"Howell, wake up!"

Howell struggled to get his eyelids open. There seemed to be a boulder resting on each one. "Tad?" He managed to pry his eyes open by sheer force of will, and looked around him, blearily, half expecting to see his father's bushy moustache looming over him as he blinked the sleep out of his eyes. But all he saw was a stack of gently smoking logs and the blue glow of a banked fire beneath. Then he remembered where he was. "Calcifer?" he asked softly, uncertain if the voice had been real or just in his dream.

"Who else would it be?" came the soft hiss from the fire.

"Don't speak," Howell warned. "You need to save your strength."

A snorting pop preceded the fire demon's hoarsely sizzled answer. "So says the nincompoop who tapped into his own life force to bring me round. I was afraid you'd never wake up. What'd you want to go and do a stupid thing like that for?"

Howell smiled. "I was worried about you, too, old blueface."

The fire demon changed the topic quite suddenly. "Howell, we've got to get that curse off Sophie."

"Who are you telling?" Howell asked, peevishly. "I've been trying to get together with you to do just that for three weeks now."

"Could have fooled me," the fire demon grumbled, sullen. Howell generously chose to ignore this comment, because his friend was so ill, and he had no desire to quarrel with him again. It was just as well, because Calcifer had more to say. His weak voice grew solemn and even quieter. "We nearly lost her this morning."

Howell blinked and sat up. "Wot? How do you mean?" Had Sophie finally decided to return to her family, even though she was still under the curse? Or did she merely hate him so much that she had attempted to flee the castle in his absence? Both thoughts made Howell feel as though he'd swallowed an uncomfortably large rock.

"Whatever it was at the door," the fire demon sizzled whisperingly, "it frightened her nearly to death. I thought she was having a heart attack."

Howell was chilled to the bone. In all that had happened, he had never before considered the possibility that Sophie might die of old age. What if she had a bad heart? He would never forgive Violet if something happened to Sophie.

Calcifer continued. "There was nothing I could do, Howell. She screamed for me to make the castle go faster, so I did. But that was all I could do." The hissing crackle was filled with anguish. Howl had never heard Calcifer so upset about another human being. He knew now they were well and truly lost to Sophie.

"And it helped?" Howell asked.

"Eventually. After I had the castle going nearly 200 kph for an hour." Howell no longer wondered how his friend had drained all of his energy helping Sophie. "I'm tired, Howell."

"I'm sorry." It was instinctive to reach out and comfort. Luckily for Howell, the logs on which his hand came to rest were still quite cool. "Thank you, Calcifer." He did not want to think how it would have felt to be trapped in the hearth with Sophie so ill. The fire demon was no doubt as upset at how helpless it had made him feel as he was about what had happened.

"As soon as I'm better…" Calcifer began.

"If we work together…" There was no doubt they would succeed. It was decided, then. Howell just wondered how long it would be before his friend was up to full strength again. Part of him wanted to insist that the fire demon not push himself, that he take his time recovering fully. The rest of him wanted to try again as soon as possible. He couldn't lose Sophie. He just couldn't.

"There's something else," Calcifer sighed, exhausted. "About when you tried to take the curse off by yourself."

Howell bit back his angry demand to know why his friend had been watching instead of helping then. "Yes?"

"It should have worked."

The fire demon must have been feeling better if he was up to his old jokes. Howell rolled his eyes. "Thank you for that helpful bit of information."

"Listen, cabbage-head." The fire snapped. "I saw it start to come off, but then…it looked almost as if she pulled it back on."

"But," asked Howell, puzzled, "why would she do that?"

"I don't know. That's your job to find out."

Howell spoke aloud the conclusion to which they had both come. "We'll never get the curse off if she doesn't want it off."

"Precisely."

"I suppose I am due another visit to her sister…" Howell mused. It would surely be easier to ask Lettie than Sophie herself why it was she might want to remain an old woman.

"Sister?" Calcifer asked, sounding as though he was fading fast.

"I promise to tell you all about it later. For now, rest."

"Not until you go upstairs to bed."

Howell was about to argue when he realised there was no point. They were both exhausted by now. And, worried as he was, Howell knew he would fall asleep, regardless, if he were in his own bed. "All right. I'm going. Rest well, Calcifer."

But Calcifer was already asleep. Howell could hear his sizzling snore as he climbed unsteadily to his feet and made for the stairs. Passing Sophie's alcove, he stopped to peer in at the dear, sleeping figure. Fortunately, she looked to have slept soundly through their entire conversation. Oh Sophie, Howell thought. You stubborn old mule. Don't you dare leave me. Especially not before he got that fight he'd been pining for all day. Turning away, Howell just managed to pull himself up the stairs and fall into bed before he lost consciousness a second time.

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Author's Notes: Yes, I gave the Witch of the Wastea name.

The dialogue between Howell and Sophie regarding his previous relationship with the Witch of the Waste is straight from HMC. All hail DWJ!

This concludes my coverage of the events which occur in chapter 7 of HMC.

Translations from the Welsh:

Deffro - The imperative form of the verb "to wake"

Tad - "Dad"