OXFORDSHIRE ENGLAND, 2010
My aunt came out of her workshop with the finished project and took an unhelpful interest in my activities. Unfortunately, the effort to find a better wand for Molly’s transfiguration would prove difficult.
“Aunt Ivana, what sorts of wands are there?”
My aunt perked up and looked at me. I had never really dared to ask her questions about her work until now. Most of our interactions until very recently had been didactic of a sort, but not the kind of teaching one gets in a proper school.
“There are many kinds, Nikolai.” She heaped split pea soup onto her spoon and licked at it like ice cream. I’d had ice cream once when my aunt had taken me into the village when I was five. She didn’t buy me any but was very occupied with her shopping, and a boy and his father walked by. The boy had dropped a big green ball on the sidewalk. The boy reached out to pick it up, and his father scolded him. They walked away, and I ran up, seized it between my fingers, set it on my fist like a cone, and licked at it.
It had a strange but pleasant taste. And as I’d never had any other flavours but pistachio, whenever my aunt made split pea soup, I pretended it was ice cream. Unfortunately, my aunt wasn’t the kind of person who liked ice cream or anything that tasted sweet.
I had to be clever about my questions. Otherwise, she would catch on to our plans of transfiguring into birds and flying to France to join the Peregrines. I had spent much of the day wondering what kind of bird I would transfigure into and what kind of bird Molly would turn into. I looked out the window and paid attention to the birds. I didn’t know their names, but there were red, black, and blue ones. Well, I knew the name of the blue jay, as I’d heard someone say it before. But the others I just called red, brown, or blackbirds.
“Even wands that can make things change into other things?” I gripped my spoon with my thumb in my fist and scooped a bit of ham and pea into it. I liked the ham bits; they were always my favourite.
“Yes, it depends on what you’re transfiguring. If it’s alive, or if it’s not.” My aunt tore off a small chunk of day-old bread and spread some butter. She passed it to me. She was always making me eat butter. She said it was good for boys to eat butter, and it was cheap.
“Well, saying you wanted to change something alive into something else that’s, ya know, alive too, only different, which kind of wand is that?”
My aunt clucked her tongue for a moment and eyed me. I couldn’t tell if she was unhappy about my questions, so I braced myself for a scolding or possibly a whipping for being too curious. “That’s very advanced magic, few can do it, and it takes a rare wand. Something like walnut or mahogany. It’s best if you core it from a burl too.”
I decided not to press her about it. She’d already given me a lot of information. I had no idea what mahogany or walnut was; I thought walnuts were things you had on cakes or fruit salads. But I knew that she labelled her wands, so I figured since I had learned my letters last year, I might be able to sound them out and find the right sort.
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It took my aunt forever to go to bed that night, and only then could I slink about her workshop with a small tallow and read the little tags in her round circular way of writing. Each one took a long while, or so it seemed, to sound them out. Then, without anyone to ask if I was doing it correctly, I couldn’t even be sure I was reading it.
Eventually, I found one labelled convincingly as mahogany. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any kind of satchel, so I wrapped the wand, some buttered bread and a mason jar of well water in a towel and tied it up. I didn’t dare steal any more wine, and I felt awful sorry about taking my aunt’s wine anyway, even though I felt it was for a good cause.
The sliver of a moon was bright in the sky, and I had naturally good night vision on account of being a satyr. Still, I was scared to sneak out after dark because I’d never done it before. So I made my way as quietly as I could to the bridge. I approached it and heard the loud voices of rough men. They were wearing yellow tunics, which I knew somewhat as being Sheriffs of the Seal.
I figured they must be looking for Molly, and I knew I had to get to her quickly to warn her. Now that I had the proper wand, she was certain to be able to transfigure into a bird and escape; then, she wouldn’t have to end up in that nasty cage again.
I thought I didn’t want to end up in the cage. At first, I was very scared of that idea and thought I should run home. I even turned to go back, but then I thought that I wouldn’t want to abandon my friend. So I took a deep breath and sneaked through the trees and shrubs along the river. I had to stay just the right distance because the ground’s softness helped hide my hoof falls, but if I got too close, they’d get stuck in the mud, and I’d be found out for sure.
As I was hoofing it through the bush, I almost ran into one of the men in a yellow tunic. His back was to me, and he held a torch high above his head. I clapped my hand over my mouth to keep from yelping as I tip-hoofed back into the bush. I’m not sure why he didn’t hear me, but I was glad. They were awfully close to the broken-down barn in the woods, where I knew Molly was hiding, and I had to get to her first to warn her.
I slipped around the trees and tried to keep them between the man I’d almost run into and me. Soon his torchlight disappeared, and I was in the clear. I didn’t want to hoof it too loudly, so I kept sneaking until I heard the scuffing and breathing of Molly just through a thicket of briars. I carefully parted them to double-check, and I could just see her tatty blond hair sticking out from a piece of felled wall. She probably knew the men were out looking for her and was hiding as best she could.
A hand seized me about the collar. “Don’t move, boy.”
I stiffened with panic, and it felt like my skin jumped off me and ran away. “What’s your business ‘ere?”
“I’m, I’m.”
“Mouth it proper, boy, out with it.”
“Just playing, Sir.”
“At this hour? Tsk tsk, lying to a deputy. Might cut yer tongue out.” A cold blade pressed to my chin. He pushed me through the thicket, and the thorns cut at my hands and tore at my jacket.
Molly looked up in surprise at us. More yellow tunics arrived. Torches flamed to life and exposed the scene.
“Led us right to you, he did. That’s a good lad.”
Molly looked at me. “Bikky, no?”
“I didn’t, Molly, run!” I said, but the magically enhanced voice of the Sherrif drowned my boyish chirping. “Molly Horsham, you are bound by the seal.” It echoed in the trees and lingered in the fallen bricks. And in my bones as much as in my memory today.