In Which Howl and Sophie Make Their Escape

The crowd in the moving castle proved slow to disperse. Sophie, still holding both of Howl's hands, grew irritated. Any other time, the eclectic gathering and celebratory atmosphere would have felt wonderful to Sophie, but at that moment, she wished she could take a broom and sweep everyone out the door. Even Michael and Calcifer. Just this once.

Voices filled the rafters and an overwhelming mix of scents thickened the air—wood smoke, seasoned chicken, sweat, floral perfume, and the burned tang of recently destroyed fire demon. Sophie and Howl inched away as best they could in a room packed with ten people including Calcifer, but Fanny didn't let them get far.

"We haven't been properly introduced," Fanny said, staring Howl down in the fierce manner unique to a mother armed with a silk hat, a parasol, and no small amount of experience with men.

"Forgive me, Mrs. Sacheverell Smith," Howl said grandly. He released one of Sophie's hands and offered Fanny a bow with his hand to his chest. "I am Howl Pendragon. It's my honor to make the acquaintance of Sophie's luminous stepmother."

"Oh," Fanny said, her demeanor melting. Her hands fluttered. "How charming. You may call me Fanny, of course."

Sophie's jaw tightened, as did her grip on Howl's hand, but she found herself relieved to see Fanny smiling at Howl. Fanny had wanted to fight him only hours ago. Sophie had still been an old woman then, and she'd believed Howl was in love with Lily Angorian. So much had happened in a few short hours. Minutes, really. The scope of her changed reality muddled her stomach.

Fanny appeared to be thinking along the same lines. She touched Sophie's elbow. "I'm so happy to see you yourself again. Will you be comfortable here now, or do you want to come home with me? You're more than welcome, you know."

Sophie exchanged a glance with Howl. He kept silent and waited for her to answer.

"No, thank you, Fanny," said Sophie. "I want to stay here."

Howl wrapped her hand in both of his.

"I thought as much." Fanny smiled grandly, her cheeks rosy. "But I'm just down the road if you need me for anything."

Meanwhile, Prince Justin urged Wizard Suliman toward the front door, insisting Suliman accompany him to see the King at once. Wizard Suliman wouldn't break away from Lettie. Poor Lettie resisted Mrs. Fairfax pulling her toward the exit through the broom cupboard. Michael and Martha lured Fanny away and introduced her to Calcifer. Much to Prince Justin's visible dismay, a delighted Fanny distracted Mrs. Fairfax from Lettie, calling out, "Annabel! Annabel, have you met the fire? He's very polite."

"Here's our chance," said Howl. He backed toward the front door, pulling Sophie. He turned the knob orange-down and opened the door, then they fled out onto the mansion's front terrace. The peculiar light of midsummer evening saturated the trees and statues in silvery dark blue. Night-blooming flowers and damp grass scented the breeze.

The door shut on the light and chatter of the castle room behind them, but Fanny's footmen looked up expectantly from the lantern-lit coach in the driveway.

"She'll be along—!" Sophie called out hastily as Howl rushed down the terrace to the French doors she'd noticed the day before—when Howl cast the listening-in spell on her and Percival, fixed the mansion, and overheard Percival accuse Sophie of being in love with Howl.

They swept into an elegant, high ceilinged parlor, furnished with a sofa, chairs, and a table in front of a hearth stacked with birch logs. The doors shut behind them. The white curtains on the windows admitted only a hint of silver-blue light. She trod on Howl's foot when he stopped abruptly in the middle of the room, again holding both of her hands.

"I'm not sorry," said Sophie, giving Howl's foot a light kick, still thinking of the events of the day before. "Snooper!"

"You're still angry with me?" said Howl in a tone of anguish.

"Yes," said Sophie firmly. She couldn't have him thinking she'd turned back into a little grey mouse. She pulled one of her hands free and pointed a finger in Howl's face. "Don't you go and try anything like that again!"

As always, the wizard proved impossible to pin down. He didn't answer. He enclosed her hand gently in his, his tattered black sleeve dangling in shreds. Just as lightly, he pressed the back of her hand to his lips.

"I mean it," said Sophie, but her voice faltered.

"I know you do," said Howl. "I'm many unflattering things. A fool is not one of them." He proceeded to kiss the back of each of her fingers in turn.

"Wickedness," said Sophie, nearly unable to speak at all.

"Yes." Howl gave her a pitying look. "I did warn you, when you first moved yourself into the castle." He reached around her shoulders and pressed his face into her hair.

Her own face settled against Howl's shoulder, just above where she'd pushed his heart into his chest minutes before. She pressed her hand to that spot, and wrapped her other arm around his waist. For the first time in a long time, she completely relaxed.

He didn't smell of any of his usual flower perfume spells. He hadn't taken the time for such things that day. Rather, the charred ends-of-the-earth odor of the Waste permeated the remains of his suit. She had to reek of it herself, but Howl only pulled her tighter. He sagged against the back of the sofa and his arms draped heavily across her shoulders. His heart beat rapidly in her ear.

What concerned Sophie the most was the lack of any dramatic comments aimed at making her feel sorry for him or fear for his imminent demise. He'd never had a better opportunity, after all. He'd struck his head on the floor, had his heart squeezed by a demon, and he'd stopped breathing. Really, how was he on his feet at all? "Howl? Are you well?"

"I'm fine."

"'I'm fine?'" screeched Sophie. She seized his shoulders. "Now I know you're ill." She searched his face, but there wasn't enough light to tell if he'd turned blue again. She frantically prodded his head for a lump or worse, and thankfully found nothing.

"Sophie—"

Nonetheless certain he'd keel over any second, she dragged him by the arm toward the doors to the terrace. She had to get him in front of Calcifer.

Howl pulled her firmly to a stop, turned her to face him, and held the side of her face with his hand. "You still underestimate the magic in your voice, don't you? You healed my head when you gave me back my heart. I doubt I have so much as a bruise anywhere on me now." He paused. "You were scared."

"Of course I was scared." She stomped her foot, but relief stole her strength. "Hmm. You haven't eaten since you drank half of Wales. That must be what's wrong with you."

A tremor of a laugh went through him. "Not even the most dedicated Welshman could manage such a feat, Cariad."

Sophie narrowed her eyes. "What does that word mean?"

"What do you think it means?" He bent closer to her, still holding her face.

"I think…." Sophie thought she'd heard him use the word cariad before. She took quick mental stock of all the insults Howl had thrown at her since she'd arrived at the castle, and dismissed them, for now. She lifted her hands to the sides of his face, and kissed him. He returned the kiss, threading his hands into her hair. She supposed she couldn't entirely fault Howl's heart for beating so fast when hers was behaving the same.

"You're well on your way to Welsh fluency," said Howl when Sophie pulled back to breathe. He swayed, shifting his feet. "And you might be right about the food."

"Oh, might I be?" Sophie sang. Then she said firmly, "Sit down and I'll fetch some—"

"Not a chance. If you go back in there I'll never get you back from their clutches. Having to rescue you once today is enough, thank you." Howl lifted his hand and rapidly drew a shape in the air. A breeze stirred, then a selection of the wine, chicken, and honey puddings from Mrs. Fairfax appeared on the table, as did a vase holding blue hibiscus flowers from outside the moving castle.

Sophie picked up an empty wine glass and held it toward him. "Water."

"Far beyond my trivial powers, I'm afraid," he said in a weary, hopeless voice. He made a show of collapsing onto the sofa, sleeves flailing, arms and legs sprawled every which way.

"Howl," Sophie said threateningly.

"Botheration," he muttered. He took the glass, which filled to the brim with water at his touch. He drank it with a long-suffering expression. "What next, Sophie?" he said when he finished and set the glass aside. "Am I to go to bed on time and cut down on bacon and go for a light run in the mornings?"

Sophie perched on the sofa and threw her arms around his neck, at last convinced there was nothing seriously wrong with him. He wrapped his arms around her and they shifted until they both stretched out comfortably—Howl's head on the little pillows and Sophie's head on his shoulder.

"No more cleaning," Howl said in a voice dulled by the need for sleep. "Or mending. There's magic for that."

"No more spiders, then," Sophie said. "You don't have an excuse for having them anymore."

"If there're no spiders, there's no reason for you to sleep under the stairs." He paused. "If you don't want to."

"Hmm." Sleep weighed on Sophie, as well. "That snoring from this morning better have been an act."

He shifted and touched her chin until she tilted her head up, and he kissed her, lightly. Then they settled, and as the last slivers of light faded from around the windows, sleep claimed them both.

In Which a New Day Dawns Rather Abruptly

"HOWL JENKINS!" Calcifer's voice roared so loud, the dishes on the table rattled together.

Sophie woke from a deep sleep with such force that she spiraled off the sofa, tripped on the table, and stumbled to her hands and knees on the wool rug.

There's gratitude for you, Sophie thought, shoving herself to her feet, but her annoyance quickly flared into alarm. The only other occasion she'd heard Calcifer yell like that, was when Howl's family in Wales had been under attack by the witch.

At the same time, Howl leapt from the sofa and hit the floor as unceremoniously as Sophie. He sprang up, clutching his chest, and swiveled toward the fireplace.

Sophie looked, too. The birch logs sat undisturbed, illuminated only by the peach-gray light of sunrise filtering through the white curtains.

Howl spoke in a voice shadowed by echoes—speaking to Calcifer from afar as he had from Mrs. Pentstemon's funeral, Sophie suspected. He said irritably, "You know where we are, Calcifer. There's no need to shout like that."

Flickering blue and green light filled the fireplace from within the chimney, and grew brighter. Calcifer swept down into view and settled among the birch logs. The bark hissed and peeled, and Calcifer grinned even more wickedly than normal.

"I wasn't sure if I should come in unannounced," Calcifer said in his crackly voice.

Sophie cleared her throat and braced her hands on her hips, but her face warmed.

"A king's messenger arrived at the mansion door and he refuses to leave until he's spoken to Howl directly." Calcifer danced about on the logs, releasing a fine woodsy scent into the room. "He and Michael have been locked in a brutal battle of niceties, and I think Michael is starting to crack."

"Oh dear, poor Michael," said Sophie. "How does the King know about the mansion?"

"Ben Suliman, I should think," said Howl, leaning on the back of the sofa with his hands clasped. "I gather from what little I overheard last night that he remembers everything from being a dog, not to mention being Percival."

"I heard him mention Prince Justin's memories, too." Sophie lifted one hand to her forehead.

"Dreadfully messy sort of magic." Howl sighed, and continued in a lamenting tone. "It's too much to hope that Prince Justin doesn't know everything Suliman does, as well, so the Market Chipping entrance won't be a secret anymore, either."

"Little does it matter," Sophie said. "You have nothing to slither out of anymore."

Howl gave her a doleful look. "And yet, there's a king's messenger assailing my apprentice."

He glanced down at himself, made a face, and swept his hands through the air. The tattered black suit blurred and reformed, blue and silver and pristine. Darker blue than it had been, which suited him now that his eyes had become a darker green. Curiously, it seemed he couldn't do much to change his hair or face without the spells in the bathroom, but the night of sleep had done him good, thought Sophie.

She felt a breeze and glanced down. Her gray dress—which hadn't come out of the waste unscathed—looked new again and the color took on a pearlescent blue and violet shimmer.

Soon, she mused, she would like to pick out a new dress for herself, perhaps something bright. Or maybe she'd make one herself. She could collect her sister while Lettie was still in Market Chipping, and they could visit the town shops together and talk. Despite her preoccupation the night before, Sophie did indeed want to be there for Lettie as she sorted out 'Percival,' Prince Justin, and Wizard Suliman. Poor Lettie.

"Right." Howl held out his elbow to Sophie. "Let's rescue Michael."

"There's more," Calcifer said in a careful tone.

"Oh?" Howl waited.

"The portals held when Sophie broke our contract but many of the defenses fell, including the old misdirection spells on the portal from Wales," Calcifer said. "Your nephew is here."