“Oh, I’m sure that isn’t so,” Sophie said,trying to sound soothing. It was hard to sound like anything withMrs. Pentstemmon staring at her like that.

“I assure you it is so,” said Mrs. Pentstemmon.“This is why I was anxious to see you, Mrs. Pendragon. Howell,you see, was my last pupil and by far my best. I was about to retirewhen he came to me out of a foreign land. I thought my work was donewhen I trained Benjamin Sullivan—whom you probably know better asWizard Suliman, rest his soul! —and procured him the post of RoyalMagician. Oddly enough, he came from the same country as Howell. ThenHowell came, and I saw at a glance that he had twice the imaginationand twice the capabilities, and, though I admit he had some faults ofcharacter, I knew he was a force for good. Good, Mrs. Pendragon. Butwhat is he now?”

“What indeed?” Sophie said.

“Something has happened to him,” Mrs. Pentstemmonsaid, still staring piercingly at Sophie. “And I am determinedto put that right before I die.”

“What do you think has happened?” Sophie askeduncomfortably.

“I must rely on you to tell me that,” said Mrs. Pentstemmon. “My feeling is that he has gone the same way as the Witch of the Waste. They tell me she was not wicked once—though I have this only on hearsay, since she is older that either of us and keeps herself young by her arts. Howell has gifts in the same order as hers. It seems as if those of high ability cannot resist some extra, dangerous stroke of cleverness, which results in a fatal flaw and begins a slow decline to evil. Do you, by any chance, have a clue what it might be?”

Calcifer’s voice came into Sophie’s mind, saying,“The contract isn’t doing either of us any good in thelong run.” She felt a little chilly, in spite of the heat ofthe day blowing through the open windows of the shaded, elegant room.“Yes,” she said. “He’s made some sort ofcontract with his fire demon.”

Mrs. Pentstemmon’s hands shook a little on her stick.“That will be it. You must break that contract, Mrs.Pendragon.”

“I would if I knew how,” Sophie said.

“Surely your own maternal feelings and your own strong magicgift will tell you how,” Mrs. Pentstemmon said. “I havebeen looking at you, Mrs. Pendragon, though you may not havenoticed—”

“Oh, I noticed, Mrs. Pentstemmon,” Sophie said.

“—and I like your gift,” said Mrs. Pentstemmon.“It brings life to things, such as that stick in your hand,which you have evidently talked to, to the extent that it has becomewhat the layman would call a magic wand. I think you would not findit too hard to break that contract.”

“Yes, but I need to know what the terms of it are,”Sophie said. “Did Howl tell you I was a witch, because if hedid—”

“He did not. There is no need to be coy. You can rely on my experience to know these things,” said Mrs. Pentstemmon. Then, to Sophie’s relief, she shut her eyes. It was like a strong light being turned off. “I do not know, nor do I wish to know about such contracts,” she said. Her cane wobbled again, as if she might be shuddering. Her mouth quirked into a line, suggesting she had unexpectedly bitten on a peppercorn. “But I now see,” she said, “what has happened to the Witch. She made a contract with a fire demon and, over the years, that demon has taken control of her. Demons do not understand good and evil. But they can be bribed into a contract, provided the human offers them something valuable, something only humans have. This prolongs the life of both human and demon, and the human gets the demon’s magic power to add to his or her own.” Mrs. Pentstemmon opened her eyes again. “That is all I can bear to say on the subject,” she said, “except to advise you to find out what that demon got. Now I must bid you farewell. I have to rest awhile.”

And like magic, which it probably was, the door opened and the page boy came in to usher Sophie out of the room. Sophie was extremely glad to go. She was all but squirming with embarrassment by then. She looked back at Mrs. Pentstemmon’s rigid, upright form as the door closed and wondered if Mrs. Pentstemmon would have made her feel this bad if she had really and truly been Howl’s old mother. Sophie rather thought she would. “I take my hat off to Howl for standing her as a teacher for more than a day!” she murmured to herself.

“Madam?” asked the page boy, thinking Sophie wastalking to him.

“I said go slowly down the stairs or I can’t keepup,” Sophie told him. Her knees were wobbling. “You youngboys dash about so,” she said.

The page boy took her slowly and considerately down the shinystairs. Halfway down, Sophie recovered enough from Mrs.Pentstemmon’s personality to think of some of the things Mrs.Pentstemmon had actually said. She had said Sophie was a witch. Oddlyenough, Sophie accepted this without any trouble at all. Thatexplained the popularity of certain hats, she thought. It explainedJane Farrier’s Count Whatsit. It possibly explained thejealously of the Witch of the Waste. It was as if Sophie had alwaysknown this. But she had thought it was not proper to have a magicgift because she was the eldest of three. Lettie had been far moresensible about such things.

Then she thought of the gray-and-scarlet suit and nearly felldownstairs with dismay. She was the one who had put the charm onthat. She could hear herself now, murmuring to it. “Built topull in the girls!” she had told it. And of course it did. Ithad charmed Lettie that day in the orchard. Yesterday, somewhatdisguised, it must have had its effect on Miss Angorian too.

Oh, dear! Sophie thought. I’ve gone and doubled the numberof hearts he’ll have broken! I must get that suit off himsomehow!

Howl, in that same suit, was waiting in the cool black-and-whitehall with Michael. Michael nudged Howl in a worried way as Sophiecame slowly down the stairs behind the page boy. Howl lookedsaddened. “You seem a bit ragged,” he said. “Ithink we’d better skip seeing the King. I’ll go blackenmy own name when I make your excuses. I can say my wicked ways havemade you ill. That could be true, from the look of you.”

Sophie certainly did not wish to see the King. But she thought ofwhat Calcifer had said. If the King commanded Howl to go into theWaste and the Witch caught him, Sophie’s own chance of beingyoung again would have gone too.

She shook her head. “After Mrs. Pentstemmon,” shesaid, “the King of Ingary will seem just like an ordinaryperson.”

Sophie was feeling decidedly queer again when theyreached the Palace. Its many golden domes dazzled her. The way to thefront entrance was up a huge flight of steps, with a soldier inscarlet standing every six steps. The poor boys must have been nearfainting in this heat, Sophie thought as she puffed her way dizzilypast them. At the top of the steps were archways, halls, corridors,lobbies, one after another. Sophie lost count of how many. At everyarchway a splendidly dressed person wearing white gloves—stillsomehow white in spite of the heat—inquired their business and thenled them on to the next personage in the next archway.

“Mrs. Pendragon to see the King!” the voice of eachechoed down the halls.

About halfway, Howl was politely detached and told to wait.Michael and Sophie went on being handed from person to person. Theywere taken upstairs, after which the splendid persons were dressed inblue instead of red, and handed on again until they came to ananteroom paneled in a hundred different-colored woods. There Michaelwas peeled off and made to wait too. Sophie, who by this time was notat all sure whether she was not having some strange dream, wasushered through huge double doors, and this time the echoing voicesaid, “Your Majesty, here is Mrs. Pendragon to seeyou.”