3.
Sophie knew three things for sure. Firstly, that whatever was making Howl nervous had nothing to do with the wedding; secondly, that Michael and Calcifer were somehow involved; and thirdly, that they expected her not to notice.
This last offended her greatly, but she didn't show it. She put on a bland face when Howl came home with stories about the batty old witch who had filled Kingsbury with cats. She acted gullible when Michael confessed that he had a secret dread of them, and that was what had rattled him the day before. He always blushed when he lied, and his cheeks confirmed what reason had already told her: he and Howl were hiding something.
Sophie went about her work with ferocious productivity. She sent the finalized guest list with Suliman to give to Lettie, who had volunteered to address envelopes. She tracked down the elusive wedding organist and ensured that he be available, barring death or imprisonment, on May the first. She assembled a tentative menu, wrote out a shopping list, and divided the cooking among herself, her sisters, and Fanny, so that nothing should burn to neglected cinders. Most notably, she cleaned.
The house was in good order, but she cleaned as if it were not. If Howl noticed anything odd about this, he didn't confront her; he simply warned Calcifer when he knew she would be mopping and kept his guests, namely Michael and Wizard Suliman, out of her way. Sophie thought they must all be working hard on that spell of his, because the mess was taking up ever more of the worktable. She would hear them sometimes at night, muttering to one another over the clutter and banging on things. Judging by the state of their fingers, the spell sometimes banged back.
Sophie wasn't very curious about the spell itself. Its purpose would become obvious once they got it to work. For the moment, all it did was fall apart and make little noises at random, neither of which seemed particularly threatening.
A week and a half after Kingsbury was flooded with kittens, Sophie opened the door to collect the milk and found the doorstep rather more crowded than usual. Fanny and the taciturn Mr. Smith were waiting there, each with a fist raised to knock.
Sophie fumbled for the words to properly greet her stepmother's husband. She was reprieved when Fanny pulled her into a long, tight embrace, and effectively dismissed when the two slid past her, Mr. Smith clearing his throat in apology and Fanny calling, "Hello, Howl? Are you in, dear?"
Howl came down the stairs as Sophie closed the door. He was tugging a sleeve into place and was likely as surprised as Sophie about the summoning, though he hid it better. "Good morning, Fanny, Mr. Smith." He shot a quick look at Sophie, standing behind them with the milk bottle, and seemed amused at what he saw. "How may I be of service?"
Fanny laughed her sparkling socialite laugh. "Oh, you are a darling! We want to help you, Howl." Her smile had been growing by degrees ever since she'd come in; now it took up the better part of her face. Howl's own smile shrank as he saw the trunk in Mr. Smith's hand. Sophie smiled in a very unladylike fashion that Martha might have called a smirk.
"Well," she said brightly, "isn't that thoughtful, Howl?" She came around them on her way to the kitchen but paused in the doorway. "Do you mind if I ask what's in the trunk, Mr. Smith?"
"Not at all," crowed Fanny. "Do take a look. We've brought you an assortment!" She pressed a buckle on top of the trunk and it popped open, revealing three fold-out drawers packed with clothes: formal jackets, slacks, bow ties, regular ties, even a pair of glossy black shoes. Sophie, watching Howl struggle to arrange his features appropriately, disguised her laugh as a cough. Mr. Smith's selections were three drab shades of brown and gray; Fanny's were sunrise orange and petal pink, sometimes both. Howl would never consent to wear anything in that trunk.
"Well?" prompted Fanny. "Thoughts?"
Howl lifted a candy-striped tie from the stop drawer with the utmost tact. "This is very thoughtful of you, Fanny. Mr. Smith. Unfortunately, I'm afraid you've gone to unnecessary trouble, as Sophie has already begun work on my outfit."
"Oh, that?" said Sophie. "Don't be ridiculous, Howl. It's nothing compared to these fine things."
Fanny beamed. Howl paled. "Now don't be modest," he said desperately. "You've been working on that suit for more than a month."
"Don't worry," said Sophie. "I'm sure you'll make use of it some other time." She crossed the room and kissed his cheek so he would understand she was punishing him. Then she took the milk into the kitchen, where she was free to laugh.
To his everlasting credit, Howl did not protest further. He could see no escape that wasn't ungracious, and so he resigned himself to Fanny's affectionate care. Sophie listened in while she cleaned, smiling at Howl's diplomatic responses. Fanny made him try on a suit of each color "to get an idea." Sophie was delighted to see that the orange clashed with his skin, and the pink made him look like he was blushing. Perhaps he was. It would serve him right.
Sophie soon realized why she had been avoiding the room with the worktable. The spell-building mess had begun to overflow. Odd twists of metal peeked from behind the table's legs. Bolts and nails had rolled onto the floor to be stepped on. A puddle of paste had dried mid-drip, suspended between the edge of the table and the seat of a chair. Worse, there was food: dried remnants of dinner stuck to dishes and half mugs of Howl's cloying tea, which attracted flies better than the flowers Sophie had set in a vase (now overturned and dry.) It was bad, but Sophie had seen worse. She reminded herself of Howl's room while she organized, scraped, and scrubbed the room neat. He'd have to see to that mess himself if he ever expected her to sleep there.
It felt good to take out her frustrations on the mess. She was glad to have saved it for when she really needed the distraction. Over the last few days, the uneasy feeling in her stomach had hardened into grim certainty that whatever Howl was hiding from her wasn't anything trivial. He'd gone to such lengths not to involve her, he must think it serious. Sophie found she was actually afraid, not for herself, but for Howl, Calcifer, and Michael. What if they got into trouble? How could she help them if she didn't even know where they went during the day? The thought made her shudder.
Or maybe that was Howl's spell. Something about it was different today, though it looked the same. Sophie stared at the odd little thing on the worktable and had the peculiar feeling it was staring back. It seemed aware of her somehow. She didn't want to go near it, much less touch it, so she left its innermost circle of mess and swept the rest into a box, which she carried upstairs to the hall closet.
Eventually Fanny and Mr. Smith went home (though they left the trunk.) Howl had nothing to say about the day's earlier events at dinner, and Sophie, feeling a small pinch of conscience, restrained herself from teasing him. They ate in near silence until a very dour Calcifer floated in. He caught sight of them, eyed their plates, and grew dourer.
"A sit-down dinner," he said. "Must be nice."
"Won't you join us?" said Sophie.
"What's the use?" said Calcifer. "Can't sit. I'll be in the hearth if anyone needs me." This last was directed at Howl, and he left the room despite Sophie's protests. Howl stared after him, and for the distance in his eyes, he might as well have been in Strangia. Sophie excused herself and carried the weight on her shoulders upstairs to the shower. It was no use pressing the issue; she'd have to come up with a strategy.
Three days passed. Each night Sophie lay awake, asking herself the same questions. They plagued her while she worked and followed her to bed, where she had long, confusing dreams that were full of nameless horror and Howl's spooky spell and kittens. For all her brooding, she knew she was no closer to making Howl confide in her. If his mind was made up (and she thought it was), she'd have better luck trying Calcifer or Michael. But would they tell her, if Howl made them think she couldn't handle it? Was that really what he thought?
Because she was thinking so hard, the knock at the door startled her more than was strictly warranted. Then again, it was the middle of the night.
"Sophie?"
"Yes?"
"May I come in?"
Sophie swallowed her initial, pathetic reaction. The soft hoarseness of his voice nearly undid her, because in her dreams she was half convinced she'd lost him already. It would be so easy to have him in and fall asleep beside him, where his warm solidness would reassure her that nothing bad could happen to them...
...But of course it could, and she needed to find out exactly what the Bad Thing that could happen was. So she tempered her reply with what serenity she possessed and sighed, "I suppose. It's locked, though."
The lock clicked seconds later, and Howl trailed into the room in one of his silky pajama sets. He turned on the lamp with a well aimed flick and she saw that they were a deep and flattering shade of blue. Howl was the snappiest dresser she knew, whatever the hour.
He caught her noticing and did a little spin and flourish. "Do you like them? The royal family sent them for my birthday."
Sophie wasn't sure about that, but she said, "How kind of them. They're pretty." Then, because the opportunity presented itself, she said, "I think you'd look better in pink or orange, though."
Howl stared at her, arms still aloft from his flourish. He lowered them and came to sit on the edge of her bed. "Yes, about that. It was utterly heartless of you to abandon me when I needed you most. Explain yourself."
Sophie scoffed, but the way he'd said that struck a nerve. When I needed you most. That almost undid her a second time, because she had come to accept that sometime soon he might actually need her help more than ever before - and she, ignorant of the situation, would be unable to give it.
"It serves you right," she said finally, without much feeling. She stopped because she wasn't sure if she wanted to continue with, "You left me with her the first time," or "You've been sneaking around like a canary-eating cat since Martha's wedding. Explain that."
Howl smiled at her. "Oh yes," he said. "I deserve worse. My transgressions are, after all, so numerous," - he fell back on the bed, resting his head on Sophie's knees - "and far too many of them have involved slighting you. For my penance, I will marry you in an ugly suit." He sighed heavily. "I'd do almost anything to gain your family's favor."
"Our family's," Sophie corrected, "and they love you, as you well know." Then she kissed him, because there was nothing else to do when he was looking up at her so hopefully. His resignation was only an act. He'd never attended a wedding looking less than his best, and he didn't intend to start with his own. If anyone could find a way around Fanny, it was Howl.
Howl was so self-assured. He might think he could smile and charm his way out of the Bad Thing's notice... and Sophie knew, though she was less experienced in such matters, that there were things in the world so dark and dangerous that even Howl couldn't charm them. He could be hurt, or worse.
It was no use saying any of that baldly, so she tried to do it without words. She kissed him harder, took hold of his soft, slippery nightshirt and pulled him up so they would be on even footing. She held him close so he'd know how terrible it would be to lose him when they'd only just found each other. She touched her forehead to his to say that she understood his wish to protect her but could not accept his decision to keep her uninformed. With lighter, softer kisses, she told him how much she loved him - more than she had ever accounted for, more than she had expected to love anyone. I can be trusted with your secrets, these kisses said. You can tell me.
Maybe I can help.
Howl's clever hands warmed her face, bruise and all. He kissed her forehead once and gave her his answer, or lack of one. "Sorry," he said, bringing his feet back to the floor. He didn't sound very sorry. "As much as I enjoy the cajolery, I can't explain now. I don't know the half of it myself."
Sophie heard the lie in his voice, and all the warmth he had imparted left her. She felt cold and stormy in its absence.
"You might at least give me an idea of what we're up against. Whoever's chasing you is bound to turn up here eventually. They always do."
Howl laughed. "Is that what you've put together? Nobody's chasing me, Sophie. That's one thing you needn't worry about." He sounded as if he genuinely believed it. Why, then, did his eyes darken when he spoke?
"I'm not worried," Sophie snapped, because one lie deserved another. "I only want to be prepared for whatever is likely to happen."
Howl stopped in the door, shoulders tight. Then he turned and treated her to his most charming smile. Even now, a mere week from the day she was to marry him, it made her heart do a funny series of flips. He said soothingly, "Hear me on this. Nothing is going to happen that we haven't planned. You have my word."
He closed the door. Sophie called after him, "A fat lot of good that does me!" but he would not be riled. Her next course of action was clear. She listened for the click of his door before she rose from the bed and quietly, oh so quietly crept to the hall closet, where she had earlier stashed the box of clutter.
The closet door's hinges needed oiling. She paused at the noise, but Howl did not reappear. She rummaged through the box. Rags, scrap metal, a sheet of heavy parchment with chunks missing... and here it was. She returned to her room, locked the door, and wedged her desk chair beneath the doorknob. Then she turned her attention to the spell book.
It was the same Howl had been using the morning she tried to work the teacup spell. She opened it, fanning her fingers over it, and murmured, "I'd like to see the spell for worrying, please."
There was a dubious sort of pause, as if the book knew it shouldn't oblige her. Then it stirred. The pages flicked slowly by in twos until the spell lay before her, fairly humming with promise.
Sophie read through it several times. She tried to follow the directions literally, but that didn't work. Neither did her attempts to riddle out its hidden meaning. There were quite a few words in it that she was sure she'd mispronounced, and the gestures it wanted were complicated. Halfway through sketching out one of Suliman's all-purpose circles, she remembered what Calcifer had said about the teacup spell. "What do you mean you can't do this? They don't get much simpler unless you want to do charms." She'd never quite managed to make the teacup sing, and that was a rudiments exercise. This was advanced magic.
Sophie glared at the book. While it couldn't glare back, she thought it seemed smug. Her frustration was mounting: at herself, for her ineptitude; at Howl, Michael, and Calcifer for their secrecy; and at circumstances in general, for being so difficult. As it stood, nothing was likely to change, and she could only worry harder. It wasn't fair.
Such was the dangerous mindset Sophie found herself in. On any other night, she would very likely have pushed the book away in disgust and retired, but not now. Now she pushed the book away and spoke firmly to herself with all the authority she could muster. What she said was, "I've had quite enough. Starting now, I don't want to worry. I shan't feel anxious or upset or anything else."
The room seemed to sigh. Sophie realized what she had said. The realization filled her with horror akin to illness, but it was too late to take the spell back; she could feel its coils constricting around her like a large, invisible snake. Perhaps Howl would feel it and come...? But no, he wouldn't, not from upstairs. He was probably asleep, and she couldn't make a sound. The light blinked out and Sophie fell into the cold darkness, cursing herself. Now she'd done it.
...
It was not the light that woke her next morning. Nor was it the activity downstairs, though she could hear it quite clearly with her ear pressed to the floor. For the first time in her life, Sophie was awakened by the disturbing knowledge that she had done something terribly, permanently bad. The last inkling of unease faded, however, when she sat up and found herself distracted by an aching head. Now that was odd. What had she done last night?
The spell book was there to remind her. It lay nearby, wrong side up and disdainful. Sophie smoothed its bent pages and closed it, trying to remember why she ought to feel guilty about the spell. It didn't seem to have hurt her. She felt fine, or perhaps better than fine. She rose and dressed and went peacefully downstairs, where this belief was challenged somewhat.
All conversation ceased when she walked in. Martha and Michael froze over their teacups; Lettie, rifling through her handbag at the counter, dropped it with a thud and metallic chink. Howl turned from the window to see what had surprised them, and his face lost all its dreaminess.
"Good Lord," he said into the silence. "What's happened to you, Sophie?"
"What do you mean?"
"Your face," said Lettie haltingly.
"It looks like someone hit you," said Martha. All the incredulous faces turned to Howl, who said, "Really. You can't believe I did that to her."
Sophie lifted a hand to her face and prodded it. The right side felt normal, but the left was swollen and tender. She had a decent bruise. "No one's hit me," she assured them. "I fell out of bed last night."
Everyone relaxed at that. Lettie resumed her rummaging while Michael and Martha went on sipping their tea. Howl crossed the room and turned her chin to inspect the bruise. He rubbed it with a thumb as if it were a stubborn spot of paint, and the pain lessened. Sophie smiled at him because it seemed right, but Howl was frowning at her.
"What?" she asked. "Is there something else on my face?"
"No, no," he said. "It's just... I could swear there's something different about you today. Perhaps it's your eyes."
"I expect they're looking a bit tired," said Sophie. "Not so strange, is it, given the hour you chose to visit last night?"
Michael choked on his tea. Lettie and Martha exchanged a furtive look that reminded Sophie of the kind that Howl and Calcifer often shared over her head. She knew they had misunderstood, but it didn't seem worth the trouble of setting them straight. Howl didn't correct them, either. He was still frowning at Sophie when the front door opened and Suliman came in, seeming mildly surprised. As he glanced around the room, a slow smile grew on his face.
"Nice morning," he said. "Lovely weather out."
Howl agreed that it was. Sophie had the distinct impression that they weren't talking about the weather and suspected it had something to do with the silence of Howl's spell, which, she noticed, had disappeared at last from the worktable. Yesterday this would have annoyed her, but this morning she saw no point in troubling herself. She marched into the pantry, where an apron was hanging on a hook.
"Who wants breakfast?" she called. "We've got all the usual staples. How about pancakes with bacon and eggs?"
The expressions around the room were really quite comical.
"But, Sophie," began Lettie.
"Oh, and we've got oranges. I'll squeeze some fresh juice."
"But, Sophie," said Martha, "we can't now. It's nearly ten."
"Brunch, then," said Sophie. "Would you prefer orange grapefruit? Both?" She sought the juicing crank in a cabinet, with such a loud series of bangs and crashes that Lettie had to repeat herself at a shout.
"You haven't forgotten about our errands, have you? We've got a lot to do today!"
Sophie straightened up, sliced an orange, and arranged it in the crank. "There's always something that wants doing. It's no excuse to skip breakfast. That goes for you, too, gentlemen."
Howl, Michael, and Suliman stopped mid-turn, looking guilty. "But, Sophie, there's work to be done," said Howl. "Surely another morning might be more suitable?"
"No," said Sophie, "you shall all sit and wait. It won't take long." She turned her back on their astonished faces. Sheer surprise that Sophie, of all people, would delay their work and errands kept them seated until her breakfast was set before them in all its syrupy, eggy, fresh-squeezed glory.
After the initial shock wore off, the breakfast's reception was quite good. No one could help enjoying Sophie's pancakes, whatever the circumstances, and the orange-grapefruit juice had a delightful bite. Howl collected the plates when everyone had finished. They all sat back in their chairs and smiled at one another.
Lettie coughed lightly. "I've an idea. Why don't we do our errands in Market Chipping, since the weather's so fine? We could stop by that cute little sweetshop afterward. You know, the one with the wonderful taffy."
"Astrid's," said Sophie. "Why? What's the matter with Kingsbury now?"
"Nothing," said Howl, returning to his chair. "It will be crowded, though. Heavy traffic this time of year, due to the holiday."
"I'd like to avoid the crowds myself," said Martha. Her smile became a very mischievous grin. "Also, if we have the time, I've got some things to show you at Cesari's." She seemed not to notice Lettie's irritable look.
"Fine," said Sophie, who could not bring herself to care that they were conspiring to lie to her or, if she were honest, what state Kingsbury was in. What difference did it make where they went, so long as the errands were done? She fetched her shoes, bid farewell to the men, and left the house with her sisters, who were privately shocked at how easy it had been to convince her.
The day passed in a hot, sunny blur. They haggled the butcher down to a reasonable price on an unreasonable amount of meat and selected dresses for Martha and Fanny. Sophie found her new unconcern very useful at the butcher's but less so in the dress shop, where Lettie scolded her for her lack of opinion. It also did not help her when she was separated from the others by a large crowd. It took her awhile to find them again, and by then they were worried and cross. Lettie scolded her for her indifference, reminding her that even Market Chipping had its unsavory characters. Sophie wondered if she had been that excitable before the spell.
Martha still wanted to go to Cesari's, but after a few choice words from and a short argument with Lettie, they decided to go to the sweetshop instead. Sophie guessed this had something to do with Fanny's underhandedness involving the cakes and gathered from Martha's sly expression that she had not given up, whatever Lettie said. They bought three lumps of taffy to share and ate it on the long walk back.
Because she wasn't brooding, Sophie found she had lots of attention for the people around her. She noticed that Market Chipping was getting its share of the holiday crowd, which annoyed Martha and flustered Lettie. There were all manner of strange faces about: dark faces with wiry beards, squinty faces with odd hats, very tall people and people who might well have had a gnome someplace in their lineage. Most of the strangers were cheerful enough, but a few seemed put off by the holiday atmosphere.
One of these, in particular, caught Sophie's eye. It was a young woman sitting alone outside a cafe, staring into her teacup as if it contained all worldly wisdom. She had a pretty face and was dressed in a vibrant outfit Howl himself would have approved of, but her loveliness was marred by the utter hopelessness she projected. Sophie tried to remember how she had felt on the May Day she'd met Howl, nervous and alone in her mousy gray dress, and found the memory foggy. If she could have remembered, she would doubtless have been able to commiserate better. Still, she hoped a charming stranger would offer to buy the girl a drink.
A thick gray cloud rolled over Market Chipping then, and it began unexpectedly to rain. There was a general rush to get indoors, but Lettie produced an umbrella from her bag so they could keep walking. The crowd thinned, and because of that, they were able to see Michael coming from a good distance.
He was walking quite briskly and wearing one of his practice disguises, complete with a beard and bowler and walking stick. From afar, he looked rather a lot like a spry middle-aged man, but the women were not fooled. Lettie and Sophie saw through the shallow magic, and Martha was, after all, his wife. They slowed to watch him approach, chewing their taffy beneath Lettie's umbrella.
"Hello," said Martha. "What are you doing this far out?"
Sophie noticed that Michael was white beneath his beard. He glanced around them in a worried way, then slipped an arm around Martha's shoulders. "You've all finished your errands, have you?" The women assured him they had. "Good," said Michael. "Good. Mind coming back to Howl's house with me for a bit?"
Lettie had paled too. "Of course," she said. "It's no good walking around in this weather." Martha seemed, like Sophie, at a loss; she looked at them hard, but Michael and Lettie weren't saying. Because she had no worries to distract her, Sophie was aware of each time they glanced over their shoulders. Something had them spooked.
