Sophie awoke next morning a little fussy. She could not remember having any drinks last night at the charity ball, but then again, after the revelation Mrs Earwig drop of her, about Sophie in fact being a witch, able to speak life in things, maybe she needed something to calm other nerves, a lot.
It also made her think about all those times she spoke to things. Aside from the hats she gave mysterious allure, dimples and hearts of gold. She wondered what would happened between Jane Farrier and her Earl when she didn't wear the bonnet. And putting her cane to one side in her mind, she did not have a clue how to use it like a wizard's staff and quite frankly she did not want to start, not until she saw Wilbert at least. No, she wondered about the other things she talked out load to.
Turnip-Head started following her after she made a joking comment, which the magic took seriously, in a be careful what you wish for manner. And Wilbert mentioned something about an enchantment bring him to life. The Castle responded and let her in when she frustratingly asked. She recalled the human skull yattered and chattered once or twice. What else did she speak too? What else would she speak too? Old habits die hard after all.
As a result, she couldn't really remember much of the night after seeing Mrs Earwig, Markl seemed to have fun talking with the top children of Ankh-Morpork, apparently being the top children of families in both Ankh and Morpork, she heard Dibbler called out by the vampire Otto, the boy looked like a Morpork child.
"Oh, Sophie, your wake," said a voice. Sophie looked up from her bed to Sal sitting at the workbench. The Research Witch looked a little sheepish, Sophie learned to tell through Sal's body language instead of facial expression.
"Wilbert had to leave the catch the train to Kingsbury, Howl thinks it might be best if you got to the Palace today,"
Sophie sighed. She certainly did not wish to see the King. But she thought of what Calcifer said. If the King did command Howl to go into the Waste and the Witch caught him, Sophie's own chance of being young again would have gone too. As well as this if Howl joined the war, who knows what would happen to him. Overhearing some of Wilbert's conversations, Sophie found out, while wizards have protected themselves with so many spells as to render them impervious to death by magic, they have yet to devise a definitive way to protect themselves from the more regular methods of death. And Howl, though she hated his cowardice, knew he should be afforded the right to be a coward and count his white feather.
Sal came over and passed the clothes of the Opprobrium Brothers shop. "Howl's made some improvements to them,"
Sophie's stomach growled. She gave Sal a stern look. Trying to imitate Mrs Earwig. "Well, I not going to see the King on an empty stomach.", she proceeded to, much to the chagrin of Calcifer, make and eat her breakfast in her nightclothes before drawing the curtains of her alcove to get changed.
Markl and Howl came quickly as Sophie finished dressing. Howl must have rushed either out of bed or out of the bathroom, as for some reason he stood in the middle of the living room holding the letter she would need to give upon her arrival, with a blanket over his shoulders and slippers. Trying to keep her head out of the gutter, she focused on her clothes, putting her checked coat on, then the gloves. She noticed Howl brightened the faded colours, colours which worked for an upper-middle class woman in Ankh-Morpork, but the mother of a prominent wizard in the bright Royal City? She understood why, but could Howl for once ask her opinion on the matter?
Well, she thought, he's not going to have it all his way. She pulled her straw hat down on her head firmly. No doubt the Ankh-Morpork Times would have made it to Kingsbury, maybe somewhere on today's addition she appeared in the background, she might as well keep this possible continuity up. Howl as she expected looked on quite confused. "You're wearing that hat?" he asked as she took the letter and pocketed it. "After all that magic I used to make you dress pretty?"
She turned away from him before he finished and the moment he did she gave a sharp order to Markl, who innocently bemused, held her walking stick. "Take care of him Markl," she gently took her stick from the boy, who nodded and hummed acknowledgement, she then headed for the door.
"Good luck," Calcifer called.
Oh great, thank you Calcifer, you demon, Sophie's sarcastic thoughts did. Now I'm sure to fail.
It is a commonly known fact, and commonly held belief, about the Lady, possibly the most powerful of the Discworld pantheon, while not actually having any true worshippers, also known as; "She-who-shall-not-be-named… The 'Million-to-One' Chance, and all the other chances as well… The One who will desert you when you need Her the most, and sometimes She might not…" will disappear the moment you say her true name out load, seemingly being the exception to every rule, knowing her true name make you powerless, not Her.
She put her hand on the knob and turned it to the red setting. Before she could push down on the handle. Howl jumped down beside her. He took her left hand, gently slide an ornate ring onto her index finger. As she wondered what just happened, Howl spoke tenderly into her ear, "This charm, will grantee your safe return."
Sophie darted back to look at him. He smiled. "Don't worry, I'll follow behind you in disguise," then suddenly, he opened the door. "Now, off you go." And he carefully pushed her out. Taking the hint Sophie did her best to be graceful as she existed onto the street in Kingsbury. The door shut behind her. Sophie of course looked back to what the castle entrance looked like here. She saw a big, red brick building with a high archway surrounding the small door. It looked like some disused warehouse or stable.
She turned away from the door and examined the ring. "Why do I feel like this is not going to work?" she asked out load. What would the ring end up becoming? She wondered. What I really want now, is to become invisible, so I don't have to do this. Of course, knowing my luck, while I'd be rid of that problem I'd probably attract a new bunch of them, very fearsome ghosts or something.
As she walked through the streets, looking at least as fine as any passer-by. Though few people did venture out, not compared to Ankh-Morpork. Some passed in vehicles, including soldiers.
The one thing which made Kingsbury an important place in the Ramtops and Octarine Grass Country, and eventually transformed it into the capital of the nation, is its climate. This is all down to light. The large magical field slows down light on the Discworld. Even more so in the Ramtops as the epicentre it. So, with such slow light the heat carried by the light builds up in some areas. Kingsbury sat in a large and now iceless glacial valley were the heat tended to linger, making it very attractive, since even in winter the grass is green, whereas in Lancre there are multiple blankets of snow, and the people of Lancre have even more blankets on their beds.
Such warm climates on the main continent are virtually unheard of. This is of course dismissing the fact both the continents of Klatch and Howondaland are contiguous to the main continent, just considered separate by culture and hazardous geography. In Ankh-Morpork the winters deemed harsh, mainly by those living in Ankh-Morpork. And the summers are the only things to pacify the city. No enemy ever took Ankh-Morpork, not truly, since the city welcome free spending barbarian invaders, who after a few days no longer owned a horse, and within a couple of months became simply another minority group, with its own graffiti and food shops. But the summer heat besieged the city, triumphed over the walls and lay over the trembling streets like a shroud. Dogs lay panting in the scalding shade. Assassins became too tired to inhume. It turned thieves honest. Even bluebottles ended up too exhausted to bang against windowpanes.
While the heat in Kingsbury did bake the day, it did not pacify anyone nor anything. Above Sophie a caw shrieked. She looked, and a black bird fluttered away from some friends. Sophie watched it disappear over the buildings. "I wonder what Howl disguised himself as? Surely not a crow."
Presently she entered a park area with a plaza in the centre, and in the middle of this stood a statue of a bearded man, dressed in military uniform, sitting on a rearing horse. Presumably an old king, or some great historical and or legendary figure of Ingary. A section of soldier stood guarding it, as well as small antiaircraft guns. The statue must play some importance to the safety of the nation, if the statue fell, the nation would fall, something folkloric which the military sometime took as law, or maybe just for propaganda. She would have probably stopped to read the plaque on the plinth if not for her mission. She did however, notice the loft of pigeons which seemingly out of their nature congregated on the statue, unfortunately they sometime roosted in the mouths of gargoyles.
"Can't be a pigeon," Sophie stated. "He's too flamboyant for that…"
A fighter plane buzzed over the statue, low and loudly enough the scare the pigeons. A young girl in a yellow dress stood behind the pilot and giggled hysterically. Sophie frowned, and her sarcastic thought overtook her again. "That could be him."
She left the park and continued down the Royal Mall, or Ingary's Main Street. It went on for miles going up a hill, to connect the Parliament Building to the Palace. Many government buildings and embassies sat on this stretch, as well as those upper-class tradesmen who could afford the lease or rent of real-estate on such a famous road.
"Ah, Sophie," called a familiar voice. She stopped and turned to her side. Wilbert sat at a table in front of a fancy restaurant connected to a hotel. A napkin on his lap and another tucked into his collar covering his goggles. "Care for some breakfast?" he asked. His plate full of fancy looking food. Then Sophie noticed two others at the table, one human, Geoffrey Swivel, sitting on a chair, the other a goat standing beside him. Mr Swivel noticed her confused look at the goat. "Oh," he said putting his knife and fork down. "That's right, he wasn't there when Sal brought you to meet us," he cleared his throat. "Sophie this is my goat, Mephistopheles, he's what you might call my Familiar."
The goat looked at her with an eldritch letterbox stare, it reminded her of Mistress Aching's cat. To take her mind off it she focused her attention on the two young men. She blinked at the plates. The difference between the two. Mr Swivel seemed content with the, above average, sausage, bacon and eggs. While Wilbert decided to indulge on practically everything, at least five times.
Sophie opened her mouth, but Wilbert put his hand up. "Yes, I know I must look like a hypocrite, after what I told Calcifer on your first morning, this is only an occasional thing, Sophie. Either at home, or at the University I'm content with one helping of a full Ankh-Morpork breakfast and slice of toast. Whereas at a hotel breakfast buffet I'll have that as my starter. This is partly because outside of Ankh-Morpork people expect wizards to over eat. Sometimes I eat so much, I get so tired I have go back to bed, and then sleep to my next breakfast buffet!" he laughed.
Mr Swivel currently looked through the menu. "You should see this," he said show it to Sophie, with his finger pointed on one line, written in a fancy font, Toasted Bread.
"That is toast," Mr Swivel said. "How can people be pretentious about such basic food?"
Sophie waited, mainly for Wilbert to finish his meal. Some of her thoughts told her she would need backup. Wilbert payed. As they walked on towards the Gatehouse. The ancient castle structure loomed over with a giant National Coat of Arms, supported by a pair of winged lions, and the sign proclaiming the name of the city. Several soldiers stood guard as they walked under the massive gothic arch. As they emerged from it, Sophie stopped with disbelief at what she saw. "Look how far we still have to go."
"Well," Mr Swivel said, "we're not going to get there stand here," both the Royal Ambassador and the Vice-Chancellor started up the half-mile courtyard to get to the Palace. Sophie dug for courage and energy and caught up with them. Soldiers, brightly coloured nobles and other such people of Kingsbury milled about the massive space. In the middle a crowd gathered around a cluster of small aircraft. Some of them took off with individual riding on them much like the girl who flew overhead Sophie and the statue some minutes ago.
Mr Swivel muttered to them, "I imagine it's a military fundraiser. Really, all this could have been avoided if King Rolland had not declared war of Strangia,"
Sophie blinked and turned to him. "I thought Strangia falsely accused us of kidnapping their Prince?"
"Oh," Mr Swivel replied. "They did, and they were preparing an ultimatum, which on advice from Ankh-Morpork and Überwald, may have recommended a third-party investigation, with recommendations included Commander Vimes, Captain Carrot and Captain von Humpeding as the authority of said investigation. However, a Strangia surveillance aircraft was observed flying over cloud cover above the Folding Valley, a fault in navigation equipment."
Wilbert interjected. "From reliable and verified sources, the Strangian Ultimatum would demand Strangian policemen free reign in an investigation, not any third-party, something Ingary would never agree to. And they were already moving troops towards the boarders. They wanted war, they just didn't expect the surveillance aircraft to go off course, giving Ingary a quote unquote, legitimate reason to declare war themselves, King Roland cited the aircraft as a violation of Ingary airspace."
Sophie shook her head. "So, who's on the wrong side?"
"Both," the two young men said together. And again, in unison, "They both went to war." Wilbert continued. "Lord Vetinari has sent me here to determine if we should back Ingary. Several nations are considering forming an alliance like the one with Prince Heinrich against Borogravia in the 1991 Kneck War. And with Borogravia against Prince Heinrich in the 1992 Kneck War," he sighed. "Only, who do we to ally with? Because one wrong move could trip up anything. The Kings of Ingary and Strangia think their moving chess pieces," he shook his head. "Everyone else can see their throwing dice."
Sophie shivered at this. Coupled with the words Wilbert and Sal said when the Strangian Military bombed Porthaven. She wanted this war ended as soon as possible and may be even before. Her third thoughts came to her; thus, she became aware of another step of steps, fast ones too, beside herself. She glanced back and then down. An old dog, of an undetermined breed, scurried beside the trotting goat. It did look quite mixed, Sophie suspected due to its size and little legs, a Llamedos Corgi existed somewhere in its heritage. She glanced around, seeing no one, not even Wilbert or Mr Swivel noticed the dog. So, Sophie whispered to it. "Howl? You disguised yourself as an old dog?"
The dog coughed. Not sure what to make it this response Sophie decided to continue with this train of thought. She sneered, always nervous of dogs, this one did not look reassuring. Howl must have done it out of spite. "You couldn't think of something more useful? Do you know how hard it is to do things when you're old?"
More steps, a slimy slushing sound, and the groan of wood caught her attention. A sedan chair, carried by two very familiar, lanky and masked figures trudged up beside her and the two men. The current of the side window lifted, a large eye and a noise, boarded by black fur and a fan stared out at her. "Look who's here," a musical but commanding voice, with an oily tone Sophie now recognised. "The tacky little girl from the hat shop,"
"The Witch of the Waste," Sophie hissed.
"Thank you for handing my scorching love note to Howl," Sophie glanced down at the door, it eyed the Witch grimly. Mephistopheles the goat looked ready to butt or kick the Witch as well. The Witch didn't seem to notice them. "How's he doing by the way?"
Sophie decided on some stretched honesty. "He's acting like a big baby. And he's working me to the bones as his cleaning lady."
The Witch chuckled. Presumably to disguise her cackle. "How delightful. So, tell me, what business do you have here at the Palace?" Sophie multiple thoughts quickly strung up an excuse. "Job hunting," she said. "I'm sick of working for Howl. And what about yourself?"
"I received a Royal Invitation," she proclaimed. "That idiot Suliman finally realised how much she needs my powers."
Wilbert scoffed. "If Madame Suliman wanted someone with the same magic as you, madam, she would have invited Mrs Earwig." Geoffrey nodded.
The Witch eyed the two of them the edge of her mouth shown became a sultry grin. "And who are these two handsome young men?"
Neither of them looked at her. Geoffrey straightened himself. "Geoffrey Swivel, Royal Ambassador of Lancre, and Calm Weaver."
"Oh," the Witch said. "The soppy little cry-baby Shire boy who that milkmaid thought could be a witch," Mephistopheles bleated a warning.
Wilbert narrowed his eyes. "That milkmaid, madam, defeated the Queen of the Elves at the age of nine, put the Wintersmith in his place when thirteen, and is the seventeen-year-old who expelled the rest of the Elves, King included, from the Disc. And that was ten years ago."
The Witch eyed him now. "Who are you to question me?"
"The Vice-Chancellor of Unseen University madam. Doctor Wilbert Weatherwax." The Witch's face darkened. Out gunned as it were.
Sophie decided to question her prowess further. "If you're so great," she asked, "Why don't you break the spell you put on me," her second thoughts stirred, but she ignored them, her angry at the Witch overruled it.
"I'm sorry dear," she said with a smile, evidently not sorry at all. "My talent lies in casting spells not breaking them," she proceeded to close the curtain finishing with, "Bye granny." Her henchmen increased their pace and past the five of them. Sophie shouted, "Now just wait a minute," she waved her cane. "You get back here right now!" she demanded. Nothing happened. Mrs Earwig must have gotten the magic walking stick wrong. She looked at the others and grumbled, mainly to the dog. "If I didn't have you to worry about, I would have clobbered her."
"You didn't need to hesitate on our account," Geoffrey said. "I'm usually against violence, but the Witch reminds me a bit of my Father."
Wilbert meanwhile, looked at the dog with narrowing eyes. He spoke nonetheless, "If Ms Throckmorton thinks Madame Suliman will let her have her own way, she's very much mistaken. She's a cunning sort," he pronounced Miss in the off-handed short way, not like when people used it for witches or women of high standing and reputation. Wilbert said it to subtly show his disrespect for the Witch of the Waste.
Wilbert's words seemed almost prophetic. Because as soon as the henchmen crossed the iron gates of the Palace, they started to deform, becoming feeble as they walked in between the lines of soldiers on guard. Finally, they collapsed into two piles of clothing unable to carry the sedan chair. The Witch peered out. "What the Disc is wrong with you two?"
A herald stood at the bottom of a huge flight of steps. Three sets of twenty on top of one other. On the left the soldier stood on every odd numbered step, whereas on the right they stood on every even numbered step. The poor boys must have been near fainting in the heat, Sophie thought. The herald addressed the Witch, "Sorry ma'am. Vehicles are prohibited beyond this point, you must continue on foot." He banged his poleaxe to emphasise the word foot.
"That Suliman," the Witch grumbled. She closed the curtain to her chair. "Using her magic to force me to climb all those gods forsaken stairs." The sound of inhaling permeated from the sedan chair before a sneeze shook it. The Witch emerged, showing herself to having needed to occupy every available space with her preferred transport. She swaggered grandiosely, as well as slowly, towards to steps.
Sophie, Wilbert, Mr Swivel, the goat and the dog past under the iron gate and felt no ill effects. Sophie saw the stairs getting closer and bigger. "Come on," she whispered, mainly to the dog. "We can do this, just act natural." They reached the steps as the Witch stepped onto the third, panting heavily as she did so. Wilbert, given his height and long stride, practically leapt up them. Mr Swivel went with a causal, formal, but still quick pace, compared to the Witch. Mephistopheles almost galloped beside him. Sophie hobbled, taking two movement to one step. Still, she past the Witch with little effort.
A cough from below made her stop and looked back. The dog stood, its head resting uncomfortably on the first step. Sophie groaned and hobbled back down. She bent down to hold the dog. Lifting it took some effort. She shuffled up the stairs, having to almost crab. "Howl," she groaned under her breath. "Why are you so heavy?" She overtook the Witch again at the sixteenth step.
"Wait!" the Witch called, "Help! I can't make it,"
Sophie reached the twentieth step which continued like a small path two the next set of twenty. Too focus on keeping the dog up, which may be Howl, she didn't look back completely. "What'd you say?" she asked loudly as she clambered onto the step. "You suddenly remembered how to break the spell you put on me?"
"I told you," the Witch said in between her lurching steps. Her neck becoming made of multiple folds of fat. How Howl ever though her beautiful would remain a mystery to Sophie.
"I don't know how!" the Witch continued, lumbering onto another step. The response only infuriated Sophie. "Then start studying!" she snapped and continued her architectural mountaineering.
Wilbert, who by this point reached the top flight, called down, "It's good advice to know how to stop a spell encase it goes wrong. After all, when handling magic, what you don't know, might very well end up killing you!"
The Witch looked up at Sophie and shook her head. "I don't get it. Where does she get all this energy?" She trudged onto another step.
A bell started ringing the hour. To Sophie it felt like age since she started ascending. Puffing she slowed to a stop. "I have to rest a bit," she put the dog down on the next step and held her knobbly knees, amazed at how they remained on her body. She afforded a glance back at the Witch who only recently started tackling the middle set of steps, and slugged her way up, nine steps below Sophie. As much as she hated the Witch, and despite what her second thought told her, Sophie could not help but feel sorry for the Witch. "Why don't you just give up?" she called down, "Your killing yourself!"
Sweating raindrops and verging on tipping point, the Witch strained her response, "I've waited," she wheezed a breath, "for fifty years now, to be, invited here," she hassled her foot onto the next step. "Ever since that Suliman, banished me to live in the Waste."
Mostly recovered Sophie, led by her second thoughts, decided to let the Witch try. The bane of Ingary, seemingly defeated by a flight of stairs. "Well good luck then. Too bad I not younger, or I'd lend you a hand," she waved her hand away to give emphasis to her sarcasm. She began to cox the dog.
At the top Wilbert chuckled. "Reg Shoe could give you a hand. It would probably come off, what with him being a zombie,"
The Witch, having to focus, only snapped at Sophie, "You, cold-hearted old hag, next time I'll turn you senile too!"
Sophie meanwhile, much to her relief, reached the top of the stairs. She put the dog down, so tried she didn't really care she rested it on its back. It's not a tortoise, she thought. And indeed, the door shuffled its bulbus body around and again shuffled out of Sophie's way, so she could take the final step to the top platform. She arched and panted, thankful once again for her stick. She crabbed around to look down at the Witch. "Almost there!" she called, between breaths.
"Honoured guest," said a voice from behind. "Please follow me.", Sophie glanced back at the splendidly dressed footman wearing white gloves, still somehow white despite the heat, now waiting at the large door. Sophie advised him, "You should go help her get up these stairs."
"I'm strictly forbidden to offer such assistance," he bent his knees. Sophie huffed. "Why that's so rude!" she tapped the stone floor. "The King himself invited her," and, she thought, wondered if she saw it correctly. Did that that young man seriously do a curtsied? As she waited for the witch, Sophie glanced around. Between his comment about Reg Shoe the Zombie, and Sophie arrival at the top, Wilbert disappeared, and she couldn't see Mr Swivel or his goat. She looked back to the footman. "You wouldn't happen to know where Wilbert and Mr Swivel are?"
"Ambassador Swivel and Vice-Chancellor Weatherwax have already been escorted inside to speak with the necessary representatives, His Majesty the King I'm afraid is too busy to see either of them right now,"
Sophie turned away, her second thought spoke up, His Majesty could also not want to see them. Instead of simply following the footman she decided to wait for the Witch. "Come on!" she shouted and waved her fist in the air. "Let's go! Don't give up now. Are you a witch, or aren't you?"
A sagging hat and deflated flabby creature shambled up the last of the steps with a breath groan. "Just shut up,"
Sophie did her best to contain her amusement, instead she disguised it as concern, "What happened? You look some much older."
Okay the Lord of the Rings joke, both Sir Terry and Dame Diana Wynne Jones did there own in Going Postal and the book version of Howl's Moving Castle as Chapter 12 showed, so I did one of my own.
I thought with the slow light bit Sir Terry wrote of in the early this would be a natural consequence.
That bit about the statue is based on a First World War legend. One town, which I sadly forgot the name of had a building with a statue on top which survived the shelling and the fighting as the British defended the town from the Germans. Rumours circulated that if the statue fell down the town would be defeated. So according to the folklore British soldiers climbed the building to better secure the statue, while German soldiers snuck behind lines to try and loosen it. I may be getting things wrong, I heard it only once on a school trip to France and Belgium back in 2011.
The Kneck Wars is what I'm calling the conflicts involving Borogravia, the 1991 war is documented in Monstrous Regiment, named after the River Kneck, a central point in the region. It strikes me there is some parallel between the conflicts in that area and the Yugoslav Wars from 1991 to 1999/2001.
When righting the climbing scene, I had a lot of trouble keeping track of which steps they reached, the numbers kept changing. The scene was both hilarious and uncomfortable to watch.
I hope I did it justice.
Next time we became a little more serious. Until then, farewell.