“What did you do about logs?” Sophie asked.

“Howl conjured some from someone who owed him money,”Michael said. “At least, he said they did, and I just hoped hewas telling the truth. And we ate seaweed. Howl says it’s goodfor you.”

“Nice stuff,” murmured Calcifer. “Dry andcrackly.”

“I hate it,” said Michael staring abstractedly at hisbowl of pounded stuff. “I don’t know—there should beseven ingredients, unless it’s seven processes, but let’stry it in a pentacle anyway.” He put the bowl on the floor andchalked a sort of five-pointed star round it.

The powder exploded with a force that blew Sophie’striangles into the hearth. Michael swore and hurriedly rubbed out thechalk.

“Sophie,” he said, “I’m stuck in thisspell. You don’t think you could possibly help me, doyou?”

Just like someone bringing their homework to their granny, Sophiethought, collecting triangles and patiently laying them out again.“Let’s have a look,” she said cautiously. “Idon’t know anything about magic, you know.”

Michael eagerly thrust a strange, slightly shiny paper into herhand. It looked unusual, even for a spell. It was printed in boldletters, but they were slightly gray and blurred, and there were grayblurs, like retreating stormclouds, round all the edges. “Seewhat you think,” said Michael.

Sophie read:

It puzzled Sophie exceedingly. It was not quite like any of thespells she had snooped at before. She plowed through it twice, notreally helped by Michael eagerly explaining as she tried to read.“You know Howl told me that advanced spells have a puzzle inthem? Well, I decided at first that every line was meant to be apuzzle. I used soot with sparks in it for the falling star, and aseashell for the mermaids singing. And I thought I might countas a child, so I got a mandrake root down, and I wrote out a list ofpast years from the almanacs, but I wasn’t sure aboutthat—maybe that’s where I went wrong—and could the thing thatstops stinging be dock leaf? I hadn’t thought of thatbefore—anyway, none of it works!”

“I’m not surprised,” said Sophie. “Itlooks to me like a set of impossible things to do.”

But Michael was not having that. If the things were impossible, hepointed out reasonably, no one would ever be able to do the spell.“And,” he added, “I’m so ashamed of spying onHowl that I want to make up for it by getting this spellright.”

“Very well,” said Sophie. “Let’s startwith ‘Decide what this is all about.’ That ought to startthings moving, if deciding is part of the spell anyway.”

But Michael was not having that either. “No,” he said.“It’s the sort of spell that reveals itself as you do it.That’s what the last line means. When you write the secondhalf, saying what the spell means, that makes it work. Those kind arevery advanced. We have to crack the first bit first.”

Sophie collected her blue triangles into a pile again.“Let’s ask Calcifer,” she suggested.“Calcifer, who—”

But this was yet another thing Michael did not let her do.“No, be quiet. I think Calcifer’s part of the spell. Lookat the way it says ‘Tell me’ and ‘Teach me.’I thought at first it meant teach the skull, but that didn’twork, so it must be Calcifer.”

“You can do it by yourself, if you sit on everything I haveto say!” Sophie said. “Anyway, surely Calcifer must knowwho cleft his own foot!”

Calcifer flared up a little at this. “I haven’t gotany feet. I’m a demon, not a devil.” Saying which, heretreated right under his logs, where he could be heard chinkingabout, muttering, “Lot of nonsense!” all the rest of thetime Sophie and Michael were discussing the spell. By this time thepuzzle had got a grip on Sophie. She packed away her blue triangles,fetched pen and paper, and started making notes in the same sort ofquantities that Michael had. For the rest of the day she and Michaelsat staring into the distance, nibbling quills and throwing outsuggestions at one another.

An average page of Sophie’s notes read:

As Sophie wrote this, Michael asked equally desperately,“Could the ‘wind’ be some sort of pulley? An honestman being hanged? That’s black magic, though.”

“Let’s have supper,” said Sophie.

They ate bread and cheese, still staring into the distance. Atlast Sophie said, “Michael, for goodness’ sake,let’s give up guessing and try just doing what it says.Where’s the best place to catch a falling star? Out on thehills?”

“Porthaven Marshes are flatter,” Michael said.“Can we? Shooting stars go awfully fast.”

“So can we, in seven-league boots,” Sophie pointedout.

Michael sprang up, full of relief and delight. “I thinkyou’ve got it!” he said, scrambling for the boots.“Let’s go and try.”

They went out into the street in Porthaven. It was a bright, balmynight. As soon as they had reached the end of the street, however,Michael remembered that Sophie had been ill that morning and beganworrying about the effect of night air on her health. Sophie told himnot to be silly. She stumped gamely along with her stick until theyleft the lighted windows behind and the night became wide and dampand chilly. The marshes smelled of salt and earth. The sea glitteredand softly swished to the rear. Sophie could feel, more than see, themiles and miles of flatness stretching away in front of them. Whatshe could see were bands of low bluish mist and pale glimmers ofmarshy pools, over and over again, until they built into a pale linewhere the sky started. The sky was everywhere else, huger still. TheMilky Way looked like a band of mist risen from the marshes, and thekeen stars twinkled through it.

Michael and Sophie stood, each with a boot ready on the ground infront of them, waiting for one of the stars to move.

After about an hour Sophie had to pretend she was not shivering,for fear of worrying Michael.

Half an hour later Michael said, “May is not the right timeof the year. August or November is best.”

Half an hour after that, he said in a worried way, “What dowe do about the mandrake root?”

“Let’s see to this part before we worry aboutthat,” Sophie said, biting her teeth together while she spoke,for fear they would chatter.

Some time later Michael said, “You go home, Sophie.It’s my spell, after all.”

Sophie had her mouth open to say that this was a very good idea,when one of the stars came unstuck from the firmament and darted in awhite streak down the sky. “There’s one!”Sophie shrieked instead.

Michael thumped his foot into his boot and was off. Sophie bracedherself with her stick and was off a second later. Zip! Squash. Downfar out in the marshes with mist and emptiness and dull-glimmeringpools in all directions. Sophie stabbed her stick into the ground andjust managed to stand still. Michael’s boot was a dark blotstanding just beside her. Michael himself was a sploshy sound ofmadly running feet somewhere ahead.