Nekromancer's Cage E-Book

Kathryn Rossati

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

When Apprentice Alkemical Apothecary Johnathan finds out that the Board of Alkemists are forcing the shop to close down due to the severe illness of his mentor, his career hopes are shattered. 

To make matters worse, Johnathan returns home that evening to discover his neighbor on the verge of death. Unable to save him, Johnathan is left only with his dying words and boxes of notepads, along with a marketing leaflet naming them as 'Super Notes', handy notepads that never let one forget what was on them - something that would certainly come in handy as a business opportunity.

Unfortunately, Johnathan's new venture leads him to encounter an unlikely gang of thieves, and a deadly conspiracy. Facing the reality that he could be responsible for the disaster, Johnathan teams up with the thieves to root out the origin of the Super Notes, and stop whoever is behind the danger that threatens their city.

Leseprobe

NEKROMANCER’S CAGE

KATHRYN ROSSATI

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

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About the Author

Copyright (C) 2020 Kathryn Rossati

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2021 by Next Chapter

Published 2021 by Next Chapter

Edited by Tyler Colins

Cover art by Cover Mint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.

CHAPTER1

‘Here, let me,’ Johnathan said, easily loosening the knot on his mentor's apron strings so they fell free, enabling the old man to lift it off over his head with shaking hands. It pained Johnathan to see how much Alfred had deteriorated already.

Johnathan had studied under Alfred for three years, learning all there was to know about remedial Alkemy, from how to define a customer’s problems to mixing the right powders for their medicine. The work had been hard, but under his mentor’s guidance, Johnathan had slowly picked it up until he was proficient; in another year, he would have been able to take his exam and become an Alkemical Apothecary himself. Yet, for the time being at least, that dream would have to be put on hold.

Alfred had been diagnosed with Acute Energy Loss, a disease which had no cure and soon would leave him bedridden, unable to work at all. And because Johnathan was not yet qualified to take over, the Board of Alkemists had deemed it necessary to close the shop for good. Alfred’s clients had taken their business elsewhere, and all that was left to do now was to finish packing up their well-used equipment.

‘Thank you, my boy. We've only got one job left,' Alfred said softly, resting on a stool next to the carefully packed boxes containing the many tools and ingredients he'd used daily for the past forty years. 'The lettering outside needs to be scraped off.'

Johnathan cast his eyes to the floor, a cold, empty feeling settling in his stomach. Scraping away the sign had such a finality to it. He wasn’t sure if he was ready. ‘But I’ll need a ladder for that. Do we even have one?’ he asked, knowing full well that there was one tucked away in the back cupboard, half rotten and full of cobwebs.

‘A ladder?' Alfred chuckled warmly. 'Nonsense, John. You’re a gangly young thing; hop up on one of those stools and I’m sure you’ll be able to reach it. There’s a metal scraper in the second drawer to your right. I left it out especially. It should be sharp enough to do the job.’

Opening the drawer, Johnathan found the scraper, a short-handled tool with a flat, triangular blade. He tested it with his thumb and concluded that it was indeedsharp enough. After sprinkling a mix of powders over his newly-earnt cut to help stop the bleeding, he reluctantly gathered one of the round wooden stools and headed outside to where the words ‘A. Vancold: Alkemical Apothecary’ were stencilled above the shop's broad windows in large, white lettering.

Despite being tall, one of Johnathan’s biggest fears was heights. Even being a few feet off the ground as he was then, trying to balance himself on the stool's small seat, was enough to make him dizzy. Still, he couldn’t leave this job to Alfred. If the old man exerted himself too much, it would only advance his condition, and by order of the Board of Alkemists, the shop had to be completely bare by the time they were due to leave the premises that afternoon.

So, gripping the outer wall for dear life, Johnathan steeled himself and began scraping the words away. The peelings floated down to the floor like snowflakes, and by the time he was finished, real snow was beginning to fall from the darkening sky.

‘Well, John,’ Alfred said when Johnathan finally came back inside. ‘I think that’s everything.’

With their hearts heavy, they loaded all the boxes of equipment and ingredients into the motor carriage that the Board of Alkemists had provided and then locked the front door before giving the keys to the driver. The driver put them in a small, secure black case and then ticked off the equipment on a list attached to a smart clipboard. Satisfied everything was there, he gave Alfred a single Ren coin for each box and then got into the motor carriage and drove off, taking their whole livelihood with him to be stored in the Board’s warehouse. All except for one small, neatly stitched travel bag.

With his mouth twitched up in a crooked grin, Alfred held the bag out to Johnathan. ‘I can’t do much to help you continue your studies, but at least I managed to save you these. It’s only a small selection, mind, but it should be enough to deal with some common ailments, at least.’

Johnathan took it and peered inside; dozens of tightly packed packets filled it to the brim, each neatly labelled in Alfred’s handwriting. A bundle of ingredients like that was worth more than two week’s pay! ‘I … can’t accept this, Alfred,’ he said, trying to hold back the emotion in his voice. ‘You should keep them; after all, the shop was yours.’

Alfred shook his head. ‘My time is over, John. I’m too old and certainly too tired to do any dispensing harder than making tea. Take them. I’m sure they’ll come in handy.' He inhaled deeply and put his hands on Johnathan's shoulders. 'You’ll make a fine Alkemical Apothecary one day, my boy, I’m sure of it. Don’t let this stop you from achieving your goals. It will take a while to find another shop to finish your apprenticeship at, but you will find one. Anyone worth their salt will see just how good you are if you show them.’

With that, Alfred wrapped his thick cloak tightly about him as a chilling wind blew through the street, and with one last glance at the empty green shop, turned and walked away.

Johnathan stood for a moment, letting the snowflakes build up in his black hair so that, in the light of the alkemically charged Kerical lamps flickering on every few feet throughout the street, he looked just as grey as Alfred had.

He'd been fourteen when he began his apprenticeship at the shop, a teenager full of enthusiasm and energy, eager to learn every detail about remedial Alkemy there was, and also some of the general Alkemy that Alfred often spoke about.

His parents had been less than thrilled with his career choice; in a city as big as Nodnol, where nearly everything used Alkemy or Kerical energy – a modern fusion of Alkemy and Lectric energy – it was hard to make a name for oneself in the small, selective circle of Alkemy-based Apothecaries. But Johnathan had ignored their snide comments and attempts to make him interested in a different school of Alkemy (like engineering, which was an ever-expanding field far from short of opportunity), and as soon as he’d finished his final school year, he had run to Alfred and begged him to take him on as his apprentice.

At the time, Alfred hadn’t been thrilled either. He’d had hundreds of customers daily and scant time to teach Johnathan even the basics. But the boy had stood and listened to every conversation, watched every tiny measure of powder or mix of dry ingredients until Alfred only had to say the slightest word and Johnathan would be dashing to the well-stocked drawers and jars to fetch everything his mentor needed. They made a good team, and as Johnathan’s knowledge expanded, both from Alfred’s guidance and from his textbooks on theory provided by the Board, he found alternative ways of grinding and mixing that improved the longevity and potency of the medicine without any changes to the ingredients.

Now that time was over, and Johnathan had to move on. Shaking the snow off his head, he reluctantly pulled the shutters over the shop windows for the last time, and like Alfred had done ten minutes before, turned to head home.

It was bitterly cold, and some of the lamps flickered in distaste as the wind rattled them from side to side. Holding the bag close and turning the collar of his long coat up to try and warm his ears, Johnathan trudged through the throng of people milling about, making his way across the square. Even this late in the evening, Nodnol's shops and factories were buzzing with activity. There were whole emporiums of spas and beauty parlours, florists, clockmakers, motor carriage garages, haberdasheries, tailors, food markets and a hundred others. Chimneys puffed out colours from across the spectrum, vibrant oranges and pinks to inky purples and blues, every one of them reflecting off the settling snow, and no matter where Johnathan looked, the hum of the city's determination and drive rattled through him. Normally, he found it inspiring, but today it was mocking, laughing at his and Alfred's misfortune. All he wanted to do was get away from it.

After twenty minutes, he finally turned the corner and saw the familiar apartment building where he was currently living. It was hardly luxurious, built from grey brick and set back slightly from the buildings on either side so that it was constantly cast in shadow, but the rooms were spacious enough for what Johnathan needed and, more importantly considering his apprentice's wage, cheap. Most of the other tenants were people who worked long hours and lived on their own, so it wasn’t unusual for professionals to move in – they didn’t care where they lived, as long as they could get their work done, even if they could afford somewhere more expensive. They were always nice enough if Johnathan happened to bump into them, but very rarely did they offer more than a few pleasantries.

He put his key in the lock of the main door and turned it, hearing it click. With a practiced nudge to encourage the rusted hinges into motion, the door opened, and he walked into the hall beyond, about to go upstairs to his rooms. Unfortunately, the noise of his entrance had aroused the attention of Mrs Higgins, the landlady, whose own apartment was just down the hall, and before he could even acknowledge her approach, she was standing in front of him.

‘So, this was it, was it? Your last day at that shabby old shop?’ she asked acidly, adjusting her stiff skirts. Despite being a foot shorter than Johnathan and in her late seventies, Mrs Higgins was one of those people who have such a commanding presence that it’s impossible to ignore them. He sometimes thought it was the severity of her eyes, or perhaps the fact that her clothes were so rigid, they demanded extreme discipline simply to wear them.

‘Uh, yes, Mrs Higgins. We closed the shop down today,’ he replied. ‘But don’t worry, I’ve got enough money for two months’ rent, at least.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘Are you certain? I don’t want to hold on to that apartment for you with no income, when I know there are far more reliable people around to rent it.’

Johnathan swallowed. Her gaze was so penetrating that he couldn’t help but feel like a child under it. ‘Yes, ma’am, I’m certain. And I won’t be hanging around just waiting for my money to run out. From tomorrow morning, I’ll be looking for another Alkemical Apothecary to apprentice with, I promise you.’

‘Very well, but if I get even a whiff of you being an idle layabout, I’ll have you out of here faster than you can blink. Now, be gone with you, I’m tired. Oh, and if you catch Mr Edwards on your way up, tell him that his rent needs paying for this month. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him for days.’

‘I’ll let him know. Uh, goodnight, ma’am,’ Johnathan said, and hurried up the stairs without giving her the chance to say anything else.

He dashed into his apartment and threw his things on the chair, and then rushed to the apartment opposite, where Mr Edwards lived. He knocked urgently on the door. There was no answer.

‘Mr Edwards?’ he called, knocking again. ‘Mr Edwards, it’s Johnathan from across the hall. May I come in?’

Still there was no reply. That was odd. Mr Edwards was usually home by this time – even if Johnathan hardly saw him, he couldn’t miss the unmistakable sound of a kettle whistling when he passed his neighbour’s apartment on the way to his own every evening.

Concerned that Mrs Higgins might harass them both even more than usual if he didn’t at least try to give Mr Edwards fair warning about his rent, Johnathan tried once more. He might well have been knocking on the door of a wardrobe, for all the response he got. Wary of intruding upon his neighbour’s privacy, he tried turning the handle. The door was unlocked, so he opened it a few inches to peer inside. He caught sight of stacks of open boxes, filled with notepads of varying shapes and sizes.'What in Phlamel’s name is that all about?’he whispered to himself, automatically using Alfred’s old expression of the famed Alkemist, Nikoli Phlamel, who had first brought Alkemy to Nodnol.

On the few occasions that Johnathan had been in Mr Edwards’ apartment, it had always been pristine and tidy to the point of being art. Never would he have expected to see such a haphazard assortment piled all over the place.

Curiosity overtaking him, he opened the door wider to get a better look. But what he saw shocked him so much that several choice curse words slipped from his mouth. Lying limply on the floor was Mr Edwards. If it wasn’t for the slight rise and fall of his chest, Johnathan would have thought he was dead.

Rushing over, he took the man’s hand. ‘Mr Edwards, can you hear me?’ He squeezed Mr Edwards’ hand; there was a movement in the fingers in response. Good, at least he was somewhat conscious.

Dashing from the room and across to his own, Johnathan snatched up the bag that Alfred had given him and came back to kneel next to the poor man. Fishing through it, he found a powder labelled ‘Essence of Wormkeel’, a staple he knew Alfred would never have let him go without. Fetching a cup of water from the kitchen, he mixed the powder with it until it formed a light paste, and then applied some to Mr Edwards’ upper lip, just under his nose. Within seconds, the man shuddered and opened his eyes.

‘John … Johnathan,’ he said, weakly. Sweat ran down his brow, and his breathing was ragged.

‘Mr Edwards, what happened to you?’ Johnathan asked gently.

But Mr Edwards shook his head and pointed to the boxes. ‘The Super Notes … take … them.’ His eyes shut once more and his breathing slowed to a stop.

Johnathan’s hands leapt to Mr Edwards’ neck, searching for a pulse. There wasn’t one. ‘No!’ Johnathan said under his breath. ‘Come on, Mr Edwards!’ He rooted through his bag again. Please let Alfred have put it in there!

His hands found a packet bulkier than most and as he pulled it out, he saw with satisfaction that it was what he was looking for. Golden Shellhorn, the most powerful single ingredient he knew of to shock a person’s system into action. Taking one of the small golden pellets in his hand, he placed it under Mr Edwards’ tongue and waited. Any second now, any second, and Mr Edwards’ heart would start again. His lungs would take in fresh air ….

Johnathan waited for the Golden Shellhorn to take effect, but with each minute that passed, he knew that he had been a moment too late. He couldn’t save Mr Edwards. His neighbour was gone forever.

Johnathan sat back from the body and buried his head in his hands. What had caused the man to collapse like that? He’d only been in his late forties, and as far as Johnathan knew from their brief encounters, had hardly ever needed to visit a Doktor or one of the Apothecaries. Johnathan just couldn’t understand it.

He dried the streaks of tears from his face and looked at the boxes. Super Notes. That was what Mr Edwards had called the notepads inside them. He got up and went over to the nearest box. On the top of the pile, typed in neat lettering on marbled paper, was a flyer headed ‘Super Notes: the handy notepad that never lets you forget important appointments!’. The flyer went on to detail three different types of Super Notes; ones that sang to you every so often so that you wouldn’t forget what was on them, others that let off an alluring scent, and some that floated along behind you until whatever task or appointment was on them had been completed.

Johnathan grimaced. These sounded like an enchanted gimmick from a Wytch, and though he had never met one, he shared the common dislike for Wytches that all Alkemists had, for a Wytch could do naturally what an Alkemist might spend years trying to achieve, a thoroughly irritating fact of life. Fortunately, most people thought Wytches untrustworthy, for the simple reason that there was no explanation for how their powers worked. Alkemy, on the other hand, had a sound logic and required hours of study to perfect. However, it was not unknown for some in desperate situations (such as those with lifelong illnesses who believed that because a Wytch’s powers were natural, any remedies made by them would be more effective than normal Alkemical-based medicines) to turn to one for help, and for the Wytch to oblige – for adequate payment, of course.

He read further down the flyer and realised it was a guide on how to sell them, with a full price list and tips to make customers interested. Had Mr Edwards truly planned on selling these?

Johnathan bit his lip. An idea had taken root in his mind that he didn’t like, but given he was now jobless, he might not have any other choice. After all, Mr Edwards had begged him to ‘take them’ with his dying words. Would it really be such a terrible thing to try and sell them himself for a while, at least until he found another shop to take him on?

CHAPTER2

Johnathan fought against the shrill wind that was trying to force him backwards. He was knee-deep in snow, and every step was slow and measured so that he didn’t fall off balance. Strung across his shoulder was the bag of ingredients that Alfred had left him and clutched in his hand was a case full of Super Notes, ready to be presented at the next household he stopped at.

A month had passed since Mr Edwards’ death. Though Johnathan had called a Doktor to formally confirm it at the time, they hadn’t been able to figure out why he’d died. Doktor Mannings had been most insistent that an autopsy be conducted, but Mrs Higgins wouldn’t hear of it, saying that any such inquiries would delay her getting a tenant to replace him, and apparently, that was something she could ill afford. However, no sooner had Doktor Mannings signed the death certificate than two very important looking people came to see Mrs Higgins, and once they’d left, Johnathan saw her smiling – something he didn’t think he’d ever caught her doing before.

It had taken every bit of Johnathan’s self-control not to ask what the visit was about, but at least he’d managed to hide the Super Notes in his own apartment before the people came back to take away the rest of Mr Edwards’ belongings. Who they were was a mystery to him, and he was thoroughly irritated that Mrs Higgins hadn’t even tried to contact any of Mr Edwards’ relatives first, in case they would have liked his possessions. Still, Johnathan supposed it was no use being angry with her; the only thought she ever seemed to spare her tenants was whether they could pay her every month. There was no reason why she would change just because someone had died. And he knew if he ever dared to question her, she’d throw him out without giving him the chance to pack.

He sneezed violently as several snowflakes went up his nose. How he wished Boysenberry Lane wasn’t so dreadfully steep. His legs were aching (what he could feel of them at least) and the houses perched in the distance seemed as far away as they had fifteen minutes ago.

Stopping for a moment, he blew on his hands and wriggled his fingers to help keep his circulation going. A stray newspaper billowed across his path, flapping around like an over-grown moth. In a flurry of ice and wind, it circled around in the air and then hit him full in the face. He pulled it away in agitation, about to tear it into shreds, but then his eyes caught the headline: Musical Bandits strike again; Family Devastated by Theft of Precious Jewellery Collection.

He frowned. There had been a lot of whispers about these so-called Musical Bandits throughout Nodnol over the past few weeks. It seemed that no one ever saw them; all they heard was a sweet, rhythmic music, and then their memories went blank. ‘Musical indeed,’ he muttered. ‘Probably just some rogues who’ve stolen several bottles of Easy Draught to put everyone to sleep.’ He tossed the paper roughly away into a nearby dustbin and picked up his bag and case again.

It was getting on for late afternoon; if he didn’t reach those houses soon, he wouldn’t have suitable daylight left to demonstrate the different qualities of the Super Notes, something he’d found invaluable when trying to sell them.

So far, he’d made well over six hundred Ren, more than enough to pay another two months’ rent, giving him more time to look for a new shop to apprentice in and, boy, did he need it. He’d been to all the Alkemical Apothecaries in the city centre and none of them were interested in helping him. They all said that it would be too hard working with someone who already had their own way of doing things.

‘And what quaint ways they are, indeed,’ Alexander Benthas (one of the city’s top Alkemical Apothecaries, despite being barely into his twenties) had said when Johnathan told him which shop he’d trained at.

Johnathan left in somewhat of a hurry shortly after, having accidentally upset Benthas’ prize display of Angelic Resin. Benthas chased him halfway down the street with a mop reeking suspiciously of spoiled anti-fungal tonic - which was ironically made with an extremely potent forest fungus – but, fortunately, it had been market day and Johnathan managed to lose him in the crowd.

The memory made him snort, and with a newfound spurt of energy, he came to the top of Boysenberry Lane and the enormous houses that awaited him. Each one was easily as big as Johnathan’s apartment building, fully detached, and with outer walls made of rough-shaped stone blocks. They looked impressive, and very, very expensive. The first one belonged to the Brewer family, who everyone knew owned Nodnol’s best beer brewery. They were rumoured to have six children, and a very busy schedule. They were sure to be good candidates for the Super Notes.

Adjusting his coat and scarf and readying his case, Johnathan rang the doorbell. There was a slight delay and then the door opened to reveal the most harassed-looking butler that Johnathan had seen so far, and now that he was scouting the richer families, he had seen rather a lot.

‘May I help you, sir?’ the butler asked politely, but without a hint of a smile.

‘Yes, good afternoon. My name is Johnathan Nesbit, seller of the bestselling Super Notes, and I’ve come to⁠—’

‘I’m terribly sorry, sir, but the Lady and Master are currently attending a party several doors down. I was assured that they would be out until late evening.’

‘Ah,’ Johnathan said, his enthusiasm suddenly extinguished. ‘Perhaps you would be interested in buying some Super Notes yourself? They come in very handy when reminders are needed for what chores have to be done. Here,’ he smiled, taking one of the pads of Super Notes from his case and holding it up. It was decorated with luminous musical notes. ‘These ones sing to you if you haven’t read them in a while. That’s a rather pleasant way of jogging your memory, don’t you think? And these⁠—’

‘Sir, I am sure that there are plenty of butlers and maidservants out there who would benefit from such contraptions, but I assure you, I am not one of them. My memory is perfectly adequate and, if it weren’t, then I certainly wouldn’t be employed by such an esteemed family. Now, please, whilst I believe your intentions to be good, it would be best for you to leave the premises at once. Good evening!’

With that, he closed the door in Johnathan’s face, leaving him standing on the doorstep like a statue. Well, Johnathan couldn’t say it was the first time he’d received such rejection. In fact, a vast majority of the houses he went to shut him out after only a few words. ‘On to the next house, then,’ he muttered, and carried his bag and case with him through the gates and to the house opposite.

Sadly, the occupants of that house were also attending the party further down the street, as were the next and the next, until he reached the house at the very end. By this time the light had almost faded, but he could hear frivolities coming from inside. He had no doubt that this was where everyone was. Perhaps they would let him inside to warm his hands against their fire, and afterwards he could entertain them by making the Super Notes float and sing and make the room smell of sweet perfumes.

He stepped through the gates, about to head to the front door, when a large clump of snow fell off the roof and hit the dustbins stored along a side alley just inside the fence. They clanged richly, but the noise went unnoticed, hidden by the laughter and chatter from within.

Then someone giggled from outside the house. Johnathan looked around, but he couldn’t see anyone.

‘Shush, Chester, do you want someone to see us?’ It was a girl’s voice, soft but with a definite touch of self-confidence.

‘He’s sorry, Jasmine, but he can’t help himself every time he stands next to you. Your beauty just turns his legs to jelly. Isn’t that right, Chess?’ a boy asked gleefully.

‘Shut up, Samuel! I lost my footing, that’s all,’ an older boy stated angrily.

‘Be quiet, all three of you!’ snapped a different girl, harsher than the first. ‘Don’t you dare breathe another word. Let’s do our job and be out of here.’

‘Oh, don’t be so strict, Erin⁠—’

‘Samuel, if you don’t pick up your flute right now and start playing, I’ll box your ears!’

There was a sudden scrambling sound, and finally Johnathan was able to locate the speakers. Four dark shadows stood on the roof of the house, two girls and two boys, all slightly different heights. As quietly as he could, he stepped closer to the dustbins so he could get a better look. The Kerical street lights were flickering on now, and though he was hidden in shadow, the people on the roof suddenly became more visible.

The shortest one was a boy in his early teens, fitting together a silver flute, and next to him was a dark-haired girl, perhaps sixteen, who was making the boy on her other side, around the same age, blush so profusely that he kept having to look away. They both had string instruments, the girl a viola and the boy a violin. To their left, with a look of impatience on her face, was a girl of Johnathan’s own age, whose green eyes reflected the Kerical lights so vividly that it looked like her pupils were filled with hidden fire. She held a bodhran in her hands, and at her signal, the youngest boy began to play his flute.

The melody was lively and full, and soon the others joined in, creating an uplifting jig that called for Johnathan’s feet to hop around in a dance. It penetrated every part of him, and even though he knew it couldn’t have been any louder than the raucousness inside the house, it certainly felt like it was being performed by a full orchestra filling the whole street. He doubted that even the most befuddled guests would miss its call.

Quite abruptly, a wave of weariness crashed over him and he collapsed, clattering against the dustbins.

‘Hey!’

Someone pushed hard on Johnathan’s shoulders, shaking him awake. As his eyes opened, he found himself staring at a mouldy, decaying banana skin half buried by the snow. He rolled away from it and looked up. It was still night, and he was lying in the snow by the dustbins where he’d fallen.

‘I said “Hey”. You can’t just ignore me!’

He blinked and shook his head before finally turning to the speaker. It was a girl of no more than twelve, with blonde hair in ringlets and blue eyes that stared at him accusingly. She was wearing a blue velvet dress with lace around the collar and cuffs.

‘Who are you?’ he asked without thinking. He could still hear chattering coming from inside the house, now mixed with the sound of someone attempting to play the piano, and had no idea what had made him faint so suddenly.

‘What do you mean, who am I? I’m Molly Aqua, daughter of Lord and Lady Aqua, I’ll have you know. Well, adopted daughter, but that still makes them my parents. The real question here is who are you, and why were you skulking around outside our house? I bet you were the one who did it. You were, weren’t you? It must have been you, but I can’t see Winkit anywhere.’

‘Aqua … the family who owns the hospital? And what in Nodnol is a Winkit? A pet, or something?’ Johnathan asked, confused. Not only was he still dazed, but the cold was making his ears freeze.

‘Winkit is far more than a pet, you stupid rat. She was my grandmother’s cat, and my friend. Now tell me, what have you done with her?’ the girl demanded imperiously.

‘I haven’t done anything with her. I haven’t even seen a cat around here. I came to sell Super Notes, that’s it. But I fainted … I think.’

‘Humph,’ Molly said, crossing her arms. ‘A likely story. I bet you snuck in here after hearing that silly tale that she’s a Wytch’s familiar. Well, I’ll tell you, it’s not true!’

‘Why would I have any interest in a Wytch’s familiar? I’m an Alkemist, we have an inherent dislike of Wytches,’ he protested.

‘Then why are those things in your bag so obviously enchanted by a Wytch? I had a look through that guide of yours, I know what abilities they have. Only a Wytch would be able to make a notepad that sings to you or floats by your head. Now, tell me how you did it and where you’ve hidden Winkit. What did you do to make us all fall asleep?’

‘I’m telling you I – wait, did you say everyone else fell asleep too?’ Something stirred at the back of his mind.

‘Yes. Winkit was on my lap while I was sitting by the fire, listening to mother and father talk to the guests. All of a sudden, I felt very tired, and then the next thing I knew, Winkit was gone and everyone else was picking themselves up off the floor saying that they’d all fallen asleep. They thought at first that maybe it was the Musical Bandits, but as nothing had been stolen, they passed it off as a bad batch of champagne. They wouldn’t listen to me when I told them about Winkit; they said she’d only gone out to hunt mice. But she never does that. Not in the evening, at least.’ She sniffed and rubbed her eyes, shivering.

Despite how cold he was, Johnathan found himself taking off his coat and putting it around her shoulders. ‘Funny that you should mention the Musical Bandits,’ he said after a while, ‘because I saw some people up on your roof just before I collapsed. They had instruments with them and seemed quite eager to play.’

Molly looked up at him. ‘You saw the Bandits? You actually saw them, and didn’t think to stop them?’

‘Well, I didn’t know who they were and …’ he trailed off uncertainly. Who else would it have been? It wasn’t as though people regularly hired musicians to play from their rooftops. Why hadn’t he stopped them, or made his presence known?

‘Never mind,’ Molly snapped. ‘You look useless anyway. You probably couldn’t have scared them away if you’d tried. They’re hardened criminals, after all.’

‘Actually, they’re just teenagers. The oldest one looks about my age, and I’m only seventeen,’ he replied, trying not to be offended.

‘Teenagers? What would they want with jewels and trinkets, and Winkit?’