Calcifer moved his orange eyes to look into Sophie’s.“I’m scared too,” he said. “I shall sufferwith Howl if the Witch catches him. If you don’t break thecontract before she does, I won’t be able to help you atall.”

Before Sophie could ask more, Howl came dashing out of thebathroom looking his very finest, scenting the room with roses andyelling for Michael. Michael clattered downstairs in his new bluevelvet. Sophie stood up and collected her trusty stick. It was timeto go.

“You look wonderfully rich and stately!” Michael saidto her.

“She does me credit,” said Howl. “apart fromthat awful old stick.”

“Some people,” said Sophie, “are thoroughlyself-centered. This stick goes with me. I need it for moralsupport.”

Howl looked at the ceiling, but he did not argue.

They took their stately way into the streets of Kingsbury. Sophieof course looked back to see what the castle was like here. She saw abig, arched gateway surrounding a small black door. The rest of thecastle seemed to be a blank stretch of plastered wall between twocarved stone houses.

“Before you ask,” said Howl, “it’s reallyjust a disused stable. This way.”

They walked through the streets, looking at least as fine as anyof the passerbys. Not that many people were about. Kingsbury was along way south and it was a bakingly hot day there. The pavementsshimmered. Sophie discovered another disadvantage to being old: youfelt queer in hot weather. The elaborate buildings wavered in frontof her eyes. She was annoyed, because she wanted to look at theplace, but all she had was a dim impression of golden domes and tallhouses.

“By the way,” Howl said, “Mrs. Pentstemmon willcall you Mrs. Pendragon. Pendragon’s the name I go underhere.”

“Whatever for?” said Sophie.

“For disguise,” said Howl. “Pendragon’s alovely name, much better than Jenkins.”

“I get by quite well with a plain name,” Sophie saidas they turned into a blessedly narrow, cool street.

“We can’t all be Mad Hatters,” said Howl.

Mrs. Pentstemmon’s house was gracious and tall, near the endof the narrow street. It had orange trees in tubs on either side ofits handsome front door. This door was opened by an elderly footmanin black velvet, who led them into a wonderfully cool black-and-whitecheckered marble hall, where Michael tried secretly to wipe sweat offhis face. Howl, who always seemed to be cool, treated the footman asan old friend and made jokes to him.

The footman passed them on to a page boy in red velvet. Sophie, asthe boy led them ceremoniously up polished stairs, began to see whythis made good practice for meeting the King. She felt as if she werein a palace already. When the boy ushered them into a shaded drawingroom, she was sure even a palace could not be this elegant.Everything in the room was blue and gold and white, and small andfine. Mrs. Pentstemmon was finest of all. She was tall and thin, andshe sat bolt upright in a blue-and-gold embroidered chair, supportingherself rigidly with one hand, in a gold-mesh mitten, on agold-topped cane. She wore old-gold silk, in a very stiff andold-fashioned style, finished off with an old-gold headdress notunlike a crown, which tied in a large old-gold bow beneath her gaunteagle face. She was the finest and most frightening lady Sophie hadever seen.

“Ah, my dear Howell,” she said, holding out agold-mesh mitten.

Howl bent and kissed the mitten, as he was obviously supposed to.He did it very gracefully, but it was rather spoiled from the backview by Howl flapping his other hand furiously at Michael behind hisback. Michael, a little too slowly, realized he was supposed to standby the door beside the page boy. He backed there in a hurry, only toopleased to get as far away from Mrs. Pentstemmon as he could.

“Mrs. Pentstemmon, allow me to present my old mother,”Howl said, waving his hand at Sophie. Since Sophie felt just likeMichael, Howl had to flap his hand at her too.

“Charmed. Delighted,” said Mrs. Pentstemmon, and sheheld her gold mitten out to Sophie. Sophie was not sure if Mrs.Pentstemmon meant her to kiss the mitten as well, but she could notbring herself to try. She laid her own hand on the mitten instead.The hand under it felt like an old, cold claw. After feeling it,Sophie was quite surprised that Mrs. Pentstemmon was alive.“Forgive my not standing up, Mrs. Pendragon,” Mrs.Pentstemmon said. “My health is not so good. It forced me toretire from teaching three years ago. Pray sit down, both ofyou.”

Trying not to shake with nerves, Sophie sat grandly in theembroidered chair opposite Mrs. Pentstemmon’s, supportingherself on her stick in what she hoped was the same elegant way. Howlspread himself gracefully in a chair next to it. He looked quite athome, and Sophie envied him.

“I am eighty-six,” Mrs. Pentstemmon announced.“How old are you, my dear Mrs. Pendragon?

“Ninety,” Sophie said, that being the first highnumber that came into her head.

“So old?” Mrs. Pentstemmon said with what may havebeen slight, stately envy. “How lucky you are to move so nimblystill.”

“Oh, yes, she’s so wonderfully nimble,” Howlagreed, “that sometimes there’s no stoppingher.”

Mrs. Pentstemmon gave him a look which told Sophie she had been ateacher at least as fierce as Miss Angorian. “I am talking toyour mother,” she said. “I daresay she is as proud of youas I am. We are two old ladies who both had a hand in forming you.You are, one might say, our joint creation.”

“Don’t you think I did any of me myself, then?”Howl asked. “Put in just a few touches of my own?”

“A few, and those not altogether to my liking,” Mrs.Pentstemmon replied. “But you will not wish to sit here andhear yourself being discussed. You will go down and sit on theterrace, taking your page boy with you, where Hunch will bring youboth a cool drink. Go along.”

If Sophie had not been so nervous herself, she might have laughedat the expression on Howl’s face. He had obviously notexpected this to happen at all. But he got up, with only a lightshrug, made a slight warning face at Sophie, and shooed Michael outof the room ahead of him. Mrs. Pentstemmon turned her rigid body veryslightly to watch them go. Then she nodded at the page boy, whoscuttled out of the room too. After that, Mrs. Pentstemmon turnedherself back toward Sophie, and Sophie felt more nervous thanever.

“I prefer him with black hair,” Mrs. Pentstemmonannounced. “That boy is going to the bad.”

“Who? Michael?” Sophie said, bewildered.

“Not the servitor,” said Mrs. Pentstemmon. “I donot think he is clever enough to cause me concern. I am talking aboutHowell, Mrs. Pendragon.”

“Oh,” said Sophie, wondering why Mrs. Pentstemmon onlysaid “going.” Howl had surely arrived at the bad longago.

“Take his whole appearance,” Mrs. Pentstemmon saidsweepingly. “Look at his clothes.”

“He is always very careful about his appearance,”Sophie agreed, wondering why she was putting it so mildly.

“And always was. I am careful about my appearance too, and Isee not harm in that,” said Mrs. Pentstemmon. “But whatcall has he to be walking around in a charmed suit? It is a dazzlingattraction charm, directed at ladies—very well done, I admit, and barely detectable even to my trained eyes, since it appears to have been darned into the seams—and one which will render him almost irresistible to ladies. This represents a downward trend into black arts which must surely cause you some motherly concern, Mrs.Pendragon.”

Sophie thought uneasily about the gray-and-scarlet suit. She haddarned the seams without noticing it had anything particular aboutit. But Mrs. Pentstemmon was an expert on magic, and Sophie was onlyan expert on clothes.

Mrs. Pentstemmon put both gold mittens on top of her stick andcanted her stiff body so that both her trained and piercing eyesstared into Sophie’s. Sophie felt more and more nervous anduneasy. “My life is nearly over,” Mrs. Pentstemmonannounced. “I have felt death tiptoeing close for some timenow.”