As Others See
By Jedishampoo
Rating: M overall, this chapter T. Some language, sexuality.
Summary: A magical misfire ends with the wrong Howls in the wrong worlds. Howl's Moving Castle (Movie) crossover with Howl's Moving Castle (book).
Author's Notes: This is mostly an excuse to play with the people and characterizations involved. It's all so very, very, wrong, I'm sure, but I couldn't help it. Thanks to sakura haru and sharpeslass for their betas!
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this story, Diana Wynne Jones or Studio Ghibli does. I'm just playing with them.
x x x
Chapter 8: Discovery and Getting Home.
Howl woke from an incredibly erotic dream. It had involved both Sophies. A Martha and a Lettie-- or two-- might have been involved as well; he couldn't be sure.
He lay stretched out on Howl's bed with his head on Howl's pillow, studying the cobwebs criss-crossing the ceiling beams, strands glowing silver in the pre-dawnlight leaking through the gaps in the curtains. He tried to remember the dream. Sophie had-- wait, he couldn't remember. Had there been a swing-set in there, or perhaps a mud puddle? But the threads of the dream disintegrated as he tried to catch them, fading like the aroused tingling in his limbs.
He flopped an arm onto the bedcovers, sending up a spray of dust. He sneezed. He was alone.
The haziness cleared from his brain, and niggling guilt returned. It wasn't guilt over the dream; one couldn't help what the subconscious cooked up. One could only control what one did. And Howl wasn't sure he'd done a single correct thing in over twenty-four hours.
He'd heard it said that night was a time for fanciful imagination, that known or unknown pleasures or perils were enhanced by virtue of lurking just out of sight in the dark, and that the cold, hard light of day banished all the mystery.
As a wizard Howl knew better. Life held few such mysteries for him, so when he was presented with one as he was now, in this world, he felt at a loss. Everything had gone wrong, and he'd been able to do nothing to fix it. Powerlessness was an annoying sensation.
He'd been restless last evening after leaving Sophie, and so he'd explored the town a bit but had found no delights to tempt his interest past a glance or two. Kingsbury as well had offered nothing. Michael had even given Howl directions to Suliman's residence and Howl had stopped by to offer his help. It had been past ten and Suliman had declined sleepily but promised to be by first thing in the morning.
Howl wondered when first thing might be. Probably not now, when the morning was still grey and even the earliest birds had not yet ventured out to catch their worms. Probably a couple more hours, at least. Waiting was hell. Howl did know he would get no more sleep.
He swung his legs out of the bed, then grabbed a blanket, shook it free of dust, and wrapped himself in it. In the hall he could hear Michael snoring behind one of the closed doors. Downstairs, Calcifer had his head bent but popped up when Howl came into the kitchen.
"Hey there, Calcifer," Howl said in a low voice. He dragged one of the kitchen chairs over and situated it in front of the hearth, then sat and stretched out his legs to warm his feet just like he often did at home.
Calcifer's round blue face stretched and elongated, spreading tendrils of green flame upwards. A couple of sparks crackled out from the logs, stopping just short of Howl's bare feet. His yellow eyes opened a crack or two. "You're not here to talk about Sophie again, are you?"
Howl chuckled. Perhaps he had been a little long-winded last night when he'd returned to the castle, before he'd finally gone up to bed. He'd spent an hour or so waxing poetic to Calcifer and Michael about his own Sophie, trying to make himself forget the one from this world. "Nope."
Calcifer yawned, a short growlish crackle. "So are you ever gonna tell me what you did to make Sophie angry?"
"No." Howl crossed his arms. That made more sense than it should have. Calcifer was too sharp. Howl briefly considered sharing his woes and his worries, then decided against it. "I'm not sure she was angry, actually."
"Yeah. It's kinda hard to tell with her, sometimes."
"Yup." Howl chuckled in return. Half-memories of his dream floated just on the edges of his consciousness, ephemeral as wisps of smoke, untouchable and yet adding to his general feeling of keyed-up unease. He rubbed his fingers half-involuntarily, lightly, at his lips. He had kissed her; that had not been a dream. That he'd enjoyed it was undeniable and unsettling. Guilt and stimulation and restiveness coiled and knotted hard in his stomach.
He had to stop worrying. He wouldn't kiss her again, and that was the end of it. Because if he'd done that, what was the other Howl capable of? Howl shook his head to stop the discomfiting thoughts.
Calcifer was watching him out of yellow eyes. "You didn't sleep long."
"No. Are you concerned about me?"
Calcifer pffted a bit of smoke. "Of course not."
Howl smiled. Good old Calcifer. "So how early do they start around here?"
"Depends on what's going on. When Sophie lived here, pretty early. Now, not so much."
Howl stretched his legs, settling into a more comfortable position on the hard wooden chair. "Sophie would be getting up right about now," he said, dreamily. "Making breakfast, and tea. I'd never hear a thing. She'd come wake me if I didn't smell the bacon soon enough, because otherwise--"
"You're doing it again," Calcifer said in a long-suffering voice.
At this Howl laughed and laughed, bent over in half, releasing much of his tension. "So I am. I don't suppose you'd heat a kettle for me, would you?"
"If it'll shut you up."
"I'm shut." Howl boiled some water, steeped some tea, and drank. There, see? He could relax. He'd used to be very relaxed, once upon a time. He was stoic. He was a cool, still pond on a spring day. The sun was up now, shining happy light through the windows, and yes, the birds were chirping. Soon, then?
No. He was stoic. He was--
"Sophie will be all right," Calcifer said into the silence.
That wasn't helping. "Which one?" Howl asked, bleakly.
"Both. Sophie's a witch, you know."
This was new information. Maybe it would explain-- but no, Howl couldn't blame her for that. That had been all him. "Mine's not," he said.
"Are you so sure?" Calcifer asked, a sly undertone coloring his growling voice.
Howl thought about it for a bit. No, he decided at last. She was extraordinary in every way he found wonderful. But she was no witch, just delightfully normal. "Yes, I'm sure," he said.
"All right, then. If you say so. Oh, guess who's here?"
The stair door swung open with a whistling whoosh of air. Howl swung around to be greeted by the second most delightful sight in the world. It was Sophie and Lettie, blowing in on the sharp morning breeze, followed by a taller figure, grey-cloaked and grey-faced. It was Wizard Ben Suliman.
Howl released a whoop of delight. "Welcome!" he said to them.
The girls were fresh-faced and bright-eyed and fall-colored, Sophie dressed in dark orange under her cloak, and Lettie in red. Both of them wore their hair down, an informality that only added to their prettiness. It wouldn't have mattered to Howl, however, if they'd both been hags. He was too happy to see them.
At his greeting, Lettie waved, then looked down at his bare legs and giggled. "You really don't look very much like Howl, now. I like the black hair, though."
Sophie, however, barely glanced at him, only quirked an eyebrow before turning away to hang up her coat. Her unbound red hair whirled in a circle about her. "Shouldn't you be dressed?" she asked.
"Does it matter?" Howl asked. Who cared for appropriate clothing? He was going home!
"Sophie, you could have waited until I'd had-- oh, you have tea," Suliman said, shedding his grey cloak and plopping a black satchel upon the kitchen table. "Please, please, let me have some."
"Sure," Howl said, and fetched another cup. Upstairs he could hear Michael scrambling out of bed and thumping about. "So did you figure it out? Are we ready?"
"Yes, yes," Suliman said, waving a hand at Howl and sitting down. Lettie joined him at the table and Suliman smiled at her. Howl fetched another two cups. "I would have liked to sleep, but these girls were knocking at my door before first light, demanding we come over here."
"It was Sophie," Lettie said. "You were up anyway, Ben. You said you were just finishing."
"I was," Suliman said, and smiled at her again, rather stupidly, Howl thought. Then Suliman turned his gaze to Howl. "You're right, Lettie. The resemblance is less marked now. But shouldn't you be dressed, sir?"
"Yes, yes, fine!" Howl said. Suliman's tone had suggested Howl was committing moral turpitude by appearing half-naked in front of virtuous young ladies. He glanced over at Sophie, who still resolutely had her back to him. Then he ran upstairs to find the black suit from yesterday.
When he returned Suliman was still sipping tea, Sophie was doing dishes, and Lettie was emptying the black satchel. It contained only three things: a small, oval, vanity-sort of mirror in an iron frame, and two… candles?
Lettie took the mirror and one candle over to the magic bench. Howl raised an eyebrow at Suliman and tried to conjure a question in his brain that wouldn't sound too stupid.
Just then Michael rumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen. "Mr. Suliman! You're here early," he said. "Hello Sophie, Lettie. Is--"
"Martha wouldn't get up this early. You'll see her later," Sophie called over.
"Good morning, Michael, Howl," Suliman said. His sharp face looked less grey than before. He was obviously one of those people who needed a hot drink in the morning before becoming fully human. "Glad you're here, Michael, because now I can explain to everyone at once. The mirror is my anchor, a beacon back to this room. One candle is for you, Howl, and the other is for Howl."
Howl picked up the remaining slim, white candle from the table. It was about the length of his hand. It smelled of blue-rose oil. "A timer?" he asked.
"Yes. I'll light them, then go to your home and give one to Howl. Then I'll come back and do a backup switch-spell. Right when the timers run out, you and Howl should perform your own transport spells. Then we'll have Howl back."
Howl stared at the candle in his palm. It sounded too easy, especially after all the trouble he'd had yesterday. "You could have gone there any time?" he asked.
"Well, it took me a while to realize that you probably could have sent me. I had a great deal on my mind, and I don't often encounter this sort of problem," Suliman defended himself. "I still had to devise timers, and an anchor. You can just do your gol-powder spell to send me."
"Hmm," Howl said, and shrugged inwardly. He couldn't be angry at someone who had taken such a great deal of his valuable time to help him. It all made simple sense, too. "Right. Thanks." He lay the candle on the table and set his hands on his hips. Soon he would be back home, with Sophie.
The kitchen room, the people here, all suddenly seemed surreal. The morning sunlight forced its way through the windows only to become a yellow haze; the figures of Michael, Sophie, Lettie and Suliman floated through it in slow motion, animated statutes that were distinct but illusory. This place didn't really exist, and Howl would wake soon and never see it again.
"I'll need something to say."
"Huh?" Howl said, snapped out of his odd, dreamlike state by Suliman's voice.
"A word, a phrase, something to tell the people there. In case Howl isn't in the room when I appear. So they don't panic."
"Oh." Howl had to think for a few moments. The only things that leapt immediately to mind were too… intimate. Too private to share with these people. He might have entrusted Sophie with some of them, but she was still ignoring him with stubborn purpose. "Tell Sophie-- tell her-- I said she'd make a great pilot."
"Hooo-kay," Suliman said. Lettie laughed.
"A what? That doesn't sound very romantic," Sophie called over her shoulder in an accusing tone.
Howl was going home. What did anything else matter now? "Well, there's more you can tell her, then."
x x x
Howell awoke from a dreamless sleep with a vague sense of unease. He was half-buried under a mound of covers (were they gold? Ick.) and he was not alone. Sophie's warm body was curled next to his, and in the misty, just-before-dawn light, her hair was an expanse of glowing white, splayed across her pillow. She was snoring lightly.
Howell stared at the distressingly clean ceiling for a few minutes, feeling an odd, and unaccustomed, little cauldron of emotion boiling around somewhere under his breastbone. Regret, and not-regret, anticipation and anxiety, tenderness and tension; much of it centered around Sophie. Both of them. He wondered what he was going to tell his Sophie at home.
Then he realized: he was going to tell her absolutely nothing. He couldn't help what had happened, after all. He was a wizard but he was only human. His guilt, and his memories, were his own.
Being careful not to wake Sophie, Howell rolled off his side of the bed and located the blue suit from yesterday. He dressed and tiptoed downstairs into the living/kitchen area, where only Calcifer was awake. The little fire demon hunkered over a log and peered up at him, popping lazy floating sparks up into the chimney.
Howell considered turning around and heading back upstairs, or even out, to avoid Calcifer. But truth be told, he was feeling a bit more confident than he had last evening. He'd been play-acting so well, he'd almost become a part of this world. Half of being a wizard was deception; pretending utter coolness into existence. And he'd always rather fancied himself a bit of a social chameleon when he'd needed to be. Besides, Calcifer had absolutely no reason to mistrust him, especially since Howell had spent the night and caused no major uproar.
"How's it going, Cal?" Howell half-whispered at the grate.
"Not bad," Calcifer said. "I've been thinking."
"What have you been thinking?" Howell asked, digging around in the cupboards for a teapot and a clean cup. If he happened to find some brandy or something even better, well, then that would be quite all right.
When Calcifer didn't answer Howell turned back around to look at the grate, and was a bit startled to see the little orange flame hovering only a couple of inches away, somewhere at the level of his eyeballs. Before he could say or do anything Calcifer grew and elongated, flaring green and blue like Howell's own Calcifer, then shrank back into a flaming orange ball. The look on the demon's face was rather smug.
"Whoa!" Howell cried.
"I've been thinking that I was right. You aren't Howl," Calcifer said. "I can't believe it took me this long to figure it out. Hey, Sophie!"
"Shhh! Don't wake her," Howell said, waving his hands frantically. He lowered his voice. "What are you talking about?"
"You know darn well what I'm talking about. You're not our Howl. When Howl went somewhere yesterday, he never came back. You did. What did you do with him?"
Howell's game was up. And he'd been so close! He frantically searched his brain for a way to recover whatever pieces he could. Surely he could make Calcifer understand, at least.
"Keep it down, will you? I didn't do anything with him. It wasn't my fault. I'm just trying to get home," Howell admitted. "C'mon, Cal. Help me out. I was going to figure something out today. I think I know someone who can aid us."
"Help you out? After you pretended to be Howl?"
"What was I supposed to do?"
"You've got a point, there," Calcifer admitted. And at least he'd lowered his smarmy little voice. He flared green-blue again for a brief moment, then shrank once more. "I can't send you back. I wonder where Howl is?"
Phew, Howell thought. Calcifer was coming around. Good old Calcifer. "Most likely, he's stuck in my world. And probably trying to get back here. I'll go, quietly, I swear. Really, you've got to help me."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Well, don't tell Sophie right away, for one thing. There's no need to upset her." Howell put on his most innocent, virtuous expression.
"I suppose you're right," Calcifer said.
"I'm going to find Wizard Suliman," Howell continued. "He-- I mean, she can probably get me home."
Calcifer's yellow eyes widened. "You gotta be crazy. You can't go to her! She'll--"
"Good morning! What's all the ruckus?"
Howell and Calcifer both swiveled. Sophie, dressed in her robe and slippers, was coming down the steps and smiling at them.
"Nothing, Sophie," Howell said, smiling in return. "Just chatting."
"Sophie, this isn't Howl," Calcifer said, matter-of-factly.
"Calcifer!" Howell moaned.
"What?" Sophie said, forehead wrinkling.
"Shut up, Calcifer," Howell said, and turned to Sophie. "We were just messing about. How are you this morning?"
"Don't listen to him, Sophie." Calcifer had zipped about, around Howell's outstretched hand, to float near Sophie's shoulder. "Howl went somewhere, and this one was sent back here. He's not our Howl. Want me to take him out?"
"Calcifer, you're a dirty traitor," Howell said, and turned his hand palm-up, pleading. "Sophie, I can explain."
"What? How?" Sophie's voice was a strained whisper. As Howell watched, her pink cheeks drained of all color, leaving her deathly pale, as white as her halo of hair. "Your eyes are green. When?"
"Probably yesterday," Calcifer blithely continued, watching Howell with that smug expression, unaware of Sophie's intense distress. "Remember that spell that went wrong? He's been here since then. Want me to fry him? I can fry him."
"Sophie, I'm--"
"Oh. Oh, no." As Howell gazed at her in some horror, her face seemed to fall apart, pretty features distorting with anguish. She swayed a bit, then closed her eyes. She sounded like she was coughing, but she was crying; streams of tears were dripping down her cheeks. She whipped around and took off running back up the stairs, making choking sounds. "Oh. Oh! Oh!"
She'd taken even Calcifer by surprise. The flame's yellow eyes widened. "Sophie!"
"Now you've gone and done it, Calcifer," Howell said. He backed into a chair and plopped into it. He was sure he was going to be ill. He didn't know what to do. Usually by the time a crying woman was involved, he was long gone.
He would have to run. He could go like he'd always done, and leave Calcifer and Markl and their pet witch to deal with the situation. It wasn't his problem, was it? Why hadn't he run?
A door opened and the pet witch in question waddled out. "What's all the ruckus?"
Howell only laughed bleakly. Was the whole awful scene to be repeated?
"I didn't think she'd do that," Calcifer said, somewhat abashed. He just hung there in the air by the stairs as if he didn't know what to do, either.
Howell closed his eyes, and tried to decide why he hadn't yet escaped. A slight, creaking noise broke the silence, and a tap, tap, tap of tiny feet on the floor. There was a small, odd wheeze. Howell opened his eyes to see a short, ancient-looking white-and-brown dog at his feet. The dog narrowed its eyes and wheezed at him.
"Do you have a dog?" Howell asked the witch, and then realized that it had been a completely idiotic question. He looked at the dog and waved a finger at it to see if it turned into something else. It didn't.
"Get 'im, Heen," the old witch said, plopping herself onto the sofa.
Then Howell was distracted by giant thumping noises filtering through the ceiling, and after that, pounding noises on the stairs. It was Sophie again, running back down the steps.
"Out! Get out! Out of my house!" she screamed at him. Her cheeks were pink again and still wet with tears, but Howell could have sworn that her brown eyes were blazing with red sparks. She fisted her hands and stomped over to his chair, then took a swing at him. He only caught her hand just in time, before it connected with his jaw. "Don't you dare touch me! Get out, out, OUT OF MY HOUSE! Or I will have Calcifer fry you!"
"Get 'im, Sophie," the old witch said, this time with a cackle.
"Sophie!" Howell cried, raising both hands to block her blows. She was really trying to clock him. But he couldn't hurt her in return, with magic or with force. The dog ran in circles at Sophie's feet, wheezing in excitement. Perhaps that motivation to leave could come right now? "Calcifer! Dog! Sophie! Back off. I don't want to hurt you. Any of you."
"Just you try!" Sophie screamed, and backed away a few steps. It was only to grab something from the table, the first thing she could lay her hands on. Thankfully it was only a teacup. She had great aim; Howell had to float it, as well as the next one, safely back to the table. "What is going on here? Don't you dare use magic in my house!"
It wasn't just the floating trick; a bright, white, person-sized flash of light had appeared between them. A grey-cloaked human figure stepped through the light. The door strobed closed behind him. Howell was utterly and incredibly relieved to see that the figure was Ben Suliman.
"Ben!" Howell breathed. "Thank heavens."
"Howl," Ben said, and turned as another item of kitchen china slapped into his coat. He was holding what looked like a skinny white candle with sparks sputtering out of one end. "Sophie?"
"Who are you?" Sophie was screaming. "If you're a friend of his, then you can just get out, too! Oooh!"
"Well, hello there," the witch cooed.
"I'm here to help, Sophie," Ben said in a kind voice and with a somewhat amused expression. "I won't ask what's going on, since you're involved, Howl. But I've come to get you home."
Sophie ignored Ben and nipped around his tall form to Howell's chair, and started again with trying to clobber him.
"You'll need him to get Howl back, Sophie," Ben said, with every appearance of enjoying the drama.
"No I don't!" she yelled, and tried to kick Howell. "I'll get him back myself if I have to. But you-- you Not-Howl. You will leave, or die!"
"Ben!" Howell moaned, and used a quick bit of magic to halt her foot in midair only just before it connected with his shin.
Ben sighed and reached out to clasp Sophie's shoulder. She stopped yelling all in a rush and dropped her hands to her sides, breathing heavily and glaring.
"What did you do to her?" Calcifer asked.
"I just calmed her down a bit," Ben said in a voice that was still gentle. "There's a young man who looks much like you, Howl, back at the castle, who wants to return here. He said something about you being a pilot, Sophie, and that he misses you terribly."
"Howl," Sophie whispered, and sank back onto the sofa next to the witch, a look of desolate hope on her features. The dog threw itself onto her feet.
"About time somebody did something," Calcifer said.
x x x
End Chapter 8.
Thanks bunches for commenting, y'all! Everything, good or bad, helps, and is very nice to boot. I've taken the "low road" with this story, and have kept it sort of light, when actually, this story could have been very dark. Hope no one is offended.
Next: Intervening stuff. Two chapters to go.