Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was a long time since Christopher Chant had visited an ex-pupil. So long, in fact, that it had never happened before. Chrestomanci sighed as he stood before the looking glass, adjusting his tie. What was the etiquette for such things? Besides, this wasn't a social call. (He wasn't in the habit of paying those.) Had he been visiting one of his agents, he'd simply dress as usual and not bother to stand on ceremony. But now, on the request of his friend in Series 10, Mrs Pentstemmon, he was forced to break with habit and disrupt his terribly busy schedule, all to keep an eye on her old prodigy. She had sent the lad to him 10 years ago with a view to whipping him into shape, but it hadn't worked, and it seemed old habits died hard. That was the nub of it; if this had been a social call, he might have been his usual vague, disinterested self, but here he was acting as an inspector. Ostensibly, this was Christopher Chant visiting a former student, but really he was travelling in his capacity as Chrestomanci, a servant of the state, to deal with improper uses of magic.

He changed his blue silk cravat for a red velvet one. This particular wizard was a flamboyant dresser, and it was a rare day on which Chrestomanci feared he would be underdressed. He wasn't here to compare sartorial styles, however - and besides, the man he was going to see was a mere child, with a taste for the most garish and tasteless of colours. Not that that discouraged his many girlfriends; and Chrestomanci paused in disgust, knotting his tie particularly viciously. His face set, he descended the stairs and climbed the hill behind the castle to his private garden, where only he could go. It hoved into view, moving towards him, and once inside he bypassed the avenues of gold and silver trees in all seasons and manners of fruit or flower, to slip through the door between the worlds. There was a moment where he had to get his bearings in the darkness between worlds, and then his feet turned towards Series Ten and he entered the domain of Ingary.

Given that he had arrived with a single purpose, Christopher was still surprised by the swiftness with which he was transported to that street in the heart of Kingsbury, bustling with brightly coloured wagons and shop-stalls and awnings. It could have been market day, but then again, this was the capital - high over the town loomed the golden domes and green copper cupolas of the palace, obscured by the many spires and clock towers in between. It was always market day in Kingsbury. The residents were always building more towers, and the buildings were high and tottery here, though mostly their owners were affluent enough to keep them in grand condition.

Getting his bearings, Chrestomanci turned swiftly in the direction of the Old Town. This was were the wizards were to be found, and it was a quarter that many tried to avoid - with good reason. His nose wrinkled with the scent of dragon's blood as he entered its winding, cobbled streets, passing many dark doorways, each of which had strong enchantments and spells upon it. The strongest of all, however, was a little way beyond the wizards' domain, and tucked away so you wouldn't notice it; designed to be a little out of the way, so that customers could find it and know it was a wizard's shop, but petitioners would get hopelessly lost. Christopher's eyebrows rose, his expression growing even more supercilious. It seemed his old pupil was as incorrigibly cowardly as ever.

Raising his cane, Chrestomanci gave a sharp rap on the green paint of the door. Instantly it opened with a bang, as he had known it would - any enchantments to keep him away, however cleverly made, folded under his enchanter's magic. He stepped through into a dingy, low-ceilinged room, where a young man was mixing substances at a workbench. By his sobre suit and red hair, Chrestomanci knew he was not the wizard he sought. His manner, too, lacked the singular insouciance that characterised Mrs Pentstemmon's old pupil. The tall young man straightened up at once, his cheeks aflame, and, unable to decide whether to ask "how did you get in here" or "how can I help you", opted for, "How can I get in here?"

"I think you mean how may you help me," Chrestomanci replied severely. "Whether or not you 'can' help me is immaterial to the meaning you wished to convey."

The youth jumped, and now Chrestomanci saw that actually he was a little older than Mrs Pentstemmon's blasted prodigy had been when he had managed to blow up half the garden using dragon's blood. "Ah, yes, quite," he said. "Look, the thing is, we're closed today, and well - Howl said - I mean, Wizard Pendragon is out."

"Wizard Pendragon put a misdirection spell on the door," Christopher replied. "I do not think he would need such a measure if he was out, unless he has something very unsavoury to hide." He looked Michael up and down, as if suggesting that he, Michael Fisher, was the unsavoury thing, then ran his gloved hand over the windowsill, his expression turning vague as he pretended to examine the state of the room. Actually, he was checking out the extremely strong magic that was holding everything in place, though he was rather surprised to find the windowsill well-dusted and newly painted. "Where did he steal this house from?" Chrestomanci asked, and Michael flinched again, then frowned.

"Howl - I mean, Wizard Pendragon doesn't steal. I don't know who you are, but you can't be from these parts, or you'd know. He's the Royal Wizard now, and you are breaking and entering." Chrestomanci turned to him, surprised to hear of this promotion.

"But the house is a composite of many other buildings, yes" This question, posed honestly by Christopher, caught Michael off-guard, so that he, too, answered honestly.

"Oh yes," he said. "Don't you know? Howl lives in a castle." He blushed as he said it, either because it sounded silly, or because he had once again given something away about his tutor.

Chrestomanci snorted. "Don't be preposterous," he replied. "The only people who live in castles are kings, or government employees." Michael frowned seriously, as if taking this piece of casual wisdom to be a riddle, but just then the bell rang and the shop door opened, admitting an absolutely ancient man.

Wizened beyond belief, he looked up threateningly as Chrestomanci turned around in surprise. "What are you doing here?" he croaked, and Christopher frowned.

"I can only presume, Howell, that this is some kind of joke," he said, "since the quality of your magic is so poor that you wouldn't fool a child." At that, the old man melted away, and in his place stood a young man as tall as Chrestomanci, with long blonde hair and an outlandish, jester-ish outfit. A couple of green teardrop earrings gleamed through the sheen of his hair, and Christopher held his gaze steadily while taking in the perpetual gaudiness of his dress.

"Good day to you too, old man," the blonde wizard said evenly. "Long time no see."

Michael looked in confusion from one to the other. "Who is this man?" he asked Howl, and the young wizard, characteristically, winked at him.

"Pentstemmon send you to check up on me?" he asked, and Michael's eyebrows, already rather pale, vanished entirely into his hairline.

Chrestomanci nodded. "Yes, as a matter of fact, she did," he said.

Howl bowed his head. "You weren't at the funeral," he murmured, and Chrestomanci's eyebrow twitched.

"I was busy," he replied, "unfortunately. Moreover I wasn't notified of her death until long after it took place. But her will finally came through, and that is why I am here."

Suddenly Howl's blue eyes sparkled with entire galaxies within them. "She left me her fortune?" he asked breathlessly. "I'm her sole heir? She loved me enough to give me some incredible, magical find?"

Chrestomanci's look could have curdled milk. His black eyes withering, he replied, "Not everything is about money or magic, you miserable magpie of a man. Moreover you are far better known for your misuses of the craft than for the protection of it, so Mrs Pentstemmon, wisely in my opinion, left you nothing of the sort."

Howl sagged a little, but brushed off disappointment like a cobweb. "What then?" he asked, passing Chrestomanci and climbing the stairs to the centre of the room.

Chrestomanci paused, and his eyes became very black and piercing, and then very vague. "A personal matter," he said. "She wanted me to check up on you." He scanned the room and, his eyes alighting on the fire glowing meekly in the grate, crossed the room in three long strides. 

Howl sensed his purpose with alarm and attempted to put himself between Chrestomanci and the fire, saying, "There's no need for this, you know."

"And how many years has it been? Stand aside, boy. I'm not here to play games." Chrestomanci thought, for a moment, that he sounded very much like Gabriel de Witt.

Howl edged around the grate, his eyes serious for once. "No, really," he replied. "I've got Sophie now. You don't need to worry anymore."

"And who is Sophie?" Chrestomanci queried loftily. "The latest unfortunate to fall for you? And does she know? About the enchantments, the lies, whatever you are hiding behind your back ?"

Howl could tell Chrestomanci had used performative speech, because he felt himself jerk, but held fast, refusing to budge. "No," he said. "Sophie has set me straight."

"I'm sure," Chrestomanci replied drily. He raised his hands, and Howl felt the full blast of the enchanter's magic and winced away. Now there was nothing between Chrestomanci and the fire, and its flames crackled away innocently enough, except for the fearful streaks of blue and purple that kept escaping and being tucked back in. Christopher Chant advanced, saying, "This exorcism is long overdue," and it was at that moment that the fire raised its head.

The nine-lifed enchanter was momentarily surprised. He had heard of fire demons before, but never seen one. Now the flaming face with the curling beard and hair and orange eyes glared out at him, spitting resentfully, "Help me Howl!" A shower of sparks served to push Chrestomanci back even further, and as he dusted his frock-coat off edgily Howl stepped forward with a sigh and poked another log into Calcifer's heart.

"You see?" he said. "Nothing to worry about. He's just a boring old fire demon now."

Chrestomanci frowned, his face twisting. He did a quick scan, but there was indeed no sign of a human heart in the depths of those flames. Then what had all of Mrs Pentstemmon's fear been about? "How do you make him stay?" he asked suspiciously.

Howl burst out laughing, tears springing instantly to his eyes. "As I've been trying to tell you all along," he began, and Chrestomanci wasn't entirely sure that this wasn't irritated laughter, "it's all down to Sophie!" 

Right on cue, a door at the back of the room banged open and a red-faced, red-haired woman leaned out and yelled, "You've woken him up, you useless quack!" Startled out of his complacency, Chrestomanci's eyebrows shot up. 

He turned from Sophie to Howl and back to Sophie, and remarked in a high voice, " This is the marvellous Sophie?"

Howl nodded, a dreamy look in his eyes. "Isn't she beautiful?" he said. Chrestomanci didn't think beautiful was the word to describe the Fury currently slamming the door behind her and gaining on Howl with menace in her eyes, but then again, first impressions could be deceiving. When she saw they had guests, Sophie straightened up, the colour draining from her face in surprise.

"Who's this?" she asked, wiping her hands on her apron. Howl told her, with a flourishing gesture to his ex-tutor, and Chrestomanci gave an equally flourishing bow. "Well, I can see where he gets his quirks from," she said, looking Chrestomanci up and down with approval and not a little amusement. 

The enchanter's eyebrow twitched in annoyance, but Howl simply clapped him on the back and said, "Oh yes - the outfits, the spells, the castle...I owe it all to him." Chrestomanci sagged, chagrined, surveying Howl with horror.

"This - castle?" he asked, glancing once again at the stretched walls of the room. 

In answer, Sophie led him to the door and changed the dial beside it from red to green. Chrestomanci stepped out, not into busy Kingsbury, but onto a green hillside beneath Alpine mountains where a strong wind was blowing. Catching his hat before it was snatched away, Chrestomanci examined the hulking monstrosity above. He thought he heard Howl whisper to Sophie, "Should we shove him out the door and leave him there?" and Sophie shushing him, though not all that censoriously. He ducked back inside, his hat still in his hand, and ran a hand through his hair, which was what he did when stunned.

No one said a word. Howl was clearly proud of his achievement, Sophie rather more apologetic, Michael intrigued, the fire demon grinning malevolently. Chrestomanci felt he had to say something, so he said, "Well - I'm not sure whether I can count that as an achievement, since it is such a gross misuse of magic." One by one, their smiles began to falter, so, to make up for his honesty, Chrestomanci added, "That said, it is enough of an achievement for me to overlook its illegality."

Howl beamed, and the whole room brightened like the sun had come out. Sophie hugged him joyfully, perhaps relieved that her husband would not be going to prison, and Chrestomanci noted for the first time that she was a powerful witch. He liked her all the more. Glancing at Howl's outfit again, he frowned.

"However, when it comes to more minor misuses of magic, I cannot overlook the fact that you enchant your outfits to make yourself more attractive to women. Does Sophie know you have put a love-charm on all your clothing?"

Sophie laughed and Howl looked surprised. This time, she answered for him. "I put that charm on there," she replied, "by mistake. My spells usually work, but I can rarely undo them once they're there." Chrestomanci sighed, then paused.

"Would you consider magical tuition at my castle?" he asked, adding, "I have an excellent series of colleagues who are currently raising the next Chrestomanci." But Howl grimaced with undisguised hatred and Sophie only said, very politely, "I'm alright, though thank you for the offer." She listened for a moment, then beamed at them all. "And it sounds like Morgan has gone back to sleep, so shall we celebrate?"

"Always, my love!" Howl declared, and caught her up in a kiss. Red and flustered, Sophie gently disengaged herself and hissed, "Keep it down!" in an undertone.

Michael remained standing, scratching his head. "If you don't mind my asking," he said, "how is it that you came to tutor our Howl?" Chrestomanci sighed. He thought back to days and weeks and months of bellowing himself hoarse trying to prevent the boy from frittering his magic away in ridiculous ruses, getting into debt with unscrupulous witches and attempting to romance even the married women in the castle. Howl was only ten years his junior, but either way Chrestomanci felt it would have been impossible to teach him. He only thanked god Gabriel de Witt had never met him - he would have been horrified to hear that this quack had been in his castle. Allowing Michael to take his hat, Chrestomanci down meekly for a cup of tea made on a fire demon's head, and said, "I shall begin at the beginning." And when he was done, he added, "Allow me to belatedly congratulate you on your marriage, and the birth of your first child." Sophie beamed, and Howl too, and Chrestomanci thought maybe they weren't so bad after all.