The Secret of Zoone Page 11

  “What’s he doing?” Tug asked.

  Ozzie shook his head. “I have no idea.”

  He still couldn’t see anything of the figure, except for his slender hands, so he concentrated on trying to catch a glimpse of the book. In addition to being so large, it seemed very old. The pages were yellowed and ragged and, as the stranger flipped through them, Ozzie caught snatches of large, ornate illustrations illuminated by the moonlight. They were the type of arcane, gruesome symbols you’d find in a witch’s spell book: floating eyes, skeletal bats, and wiry little gremlins.

  “Hello?” a voice called suddenly.

  Ozzie jumped. The voice had come from behind them. He turned to see Salamanda lingering hesitantly in the middle of the common room. Ozzie instantly stood to full height and self-consciously reached for the collar of his shirt. Whew! Right side out.

  “Ozzie? Is that you?” Salamanda asked. “What are you doing out there?”

  “Um . . .” He suddenly remembered the spy and whirled back around, only to find an empty terrace. Whoever it was had obviously been frightened off by the sound of Salamanda’s voice. Ozzie took a step onto the terrace to see if he could spot where the stranger had gone. There was a staircase winding down from the side. Ozzie knew it led to a lower balcony, and to the rest of the tower—the stranger could be anywhere by now. Ozzie frowned and turned his attention to Salamanda.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “We’re trying to catch Ninja,” Tug replied, padding toward the apprentice.

  Salamanda goggled him. “Who’s Ninja?” she asked, slowly taking a step away from the enormous cat.

  “A glibber spy,” Tug explained.

  Salamanda’s eyes went as wide as two Zoone moons. “You saw a glibber?! Here?”

  “No,” Ozzie interjected, hurrying to get in front of Tug. “I mean, we’re not sure. We can try to follow him. I think I know which direction he went.”

  “Sounds exciting,” Salamanda said, only to shake her head and add, “But you have to come with me, Ozzie.”

  That sent a slightly strange thrill into the pit of his stomach. “Okay,” he said, perhaps a little too quickly. “Why?”

  “I’ve been sent to bring you to Master Nymm.”

  An image of the wizard’s wild eyebrows flashed in Ozzie’s mind. “Er . . . why?”

  “I don’t know. I just do what I’m told,” Salamanda said. “You’re to come at once.”

  “O . . . kay,” Ozzie murmured. Part of him was happy that Nymm wanted to see him—this could be another chance to try to impress him—but he was admittedly disappointed that Salamanda had come solely on official business.

  “I better come, too,” Tug informed Salamanda. “You might not know this, but Ozzie and I, w—”

  “I’m supposed to fetch Ozzie and only Ozzie,” Salamanda told the skyger, looking up at the immense cat with certain trepidation. “Um . . . sorry?”

  “Don’t worry,” Ozzie assured her. “Tug will be okay. Right, Tug?”

  “Oh, sure,” Tug said, though his tail was drooping and his fur had faded gray. “I guess I’ll see if there’s any dessert in the mess hall.”

  Ozzie watched the skyger saunter off. As soon as he was gone, Salamanda clutched him by the arm and pulled him toward her. “A glibber spy?!” she whispered. “How do you know it was a glibber? You saw him? What did he look like?”

  Ozzie didn’t know which question to answer first. “Well, someone was acting suspiciously,” he managed. “He was wearing this black cloak and had this old spell book—”

  Salamanda laughed, though not in a cruel way. “You just described every instructor at my magic academy.”

  “I think we should tell Master Nymm.”

  Salamanda shook her head. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  He expected her to tell him that it was just his imagination running wild—which was why he was so surprised when she said, “We don’t have enough evidence.” Then a certain glint shone in her eyes. “Yet,” she added, looking at him earnestly.

  Her hand was still gripping his arm, and Ozzie found himself thinking less about the glibber apprentice and more that she had said “we.”

  “You believe me?” he asked.

  “Of course I do,” Salamanda replied. “I trust you, Ozzie. If we work together, we can—drat! My ring is blinking again.”

  “Master Nymm?” Ozzie guessed.

  Salamanda nodded. “He’s probably wondering what’s taking us so long. Come on. We’d better hurry.”

  14

  An Audience with Master Nymm

  They arrived at the north tower to find someone standing in front of the door to Master Nymm’s suite. A very tall someone.

  “Hello, children,” Lady Zoone greeted them, though her long arms were crossed in what was apparently a multiversal symbol of displeasure. “What exactly is happening here?”

  Salamanda’s cheeks flushed. “Oh! Lady Zoone. Well, um . . . that is . . .”

  The door to Nymm’s room flew open, and there was the wizard himself, in all his eyebrow glory. “Salamanda!” he growled. “What took you so—oh, it’s you, Zaria.”

  “I’d like to know what’s going on, Isidorus,” Lady Zoone demanded, seeming to stand even taller. “I don’t appreciate you arranging clandestine meetings with members of my staff without my knowledge. Or my permission.”

  Nymm’s eyebrows furled like a pair of caterpillars preparing to fight to the death. “And why do you presume that’s the case?”

  “Let’s just say a little bird told me,” Lady Zoone replied, a supportive chirp sounding from somewhere within her lofty nest of hair. “Perhaps you neglected to invite me? Or the message was lost in the quirlery?”

  Nymm glowered at her, his eyes bulging beneath his twisting brow.

  “I will be present for this interview,” Lady Zoone announced.

  “I do not appreciate your interference in council matters,” Nymm hissed. “But if you insist—”

  “I do,” Lady Zoone interrupted.

  Ozzie and Salamanda exchanged a look of trepidation. Any niceties that Lady Zoone had shown toward Nymm on the platform had clearly evaporated like rain in a desert, and now the two larger-than-life figures stared each other down.

  “So be it, Zaria,” the disgruntled wizard said eventually. “Let’s get started.”

  He escorted them into the main sitting room. Ozzie noticed that the doors to all adjoining rooms were shut. The main room was piled with books, parchments, and an assortment of magical artifacts, but it was still far more organized than Lady Zoone’s study. A cauldron was percolating quietly in the fireplace while, in the far corner, a small furry creature—Nymm’s Gresswydian bat, Ozzie presumed—was hanging upside down from a perch. It had long eyebrows, just like its master, and trails of smoke were curling from its nostrils. It looked similar to the one that decorated the door to Gresswyden. The difference was that the real-life bat was radiating heat like a furnace.

  Nymm ensconced himself in a luxurious armchair while Lady Zoone took a seat on the sofa opposite and gestured for Ozzie to sit next to her. Salamanda produced a piece of parchment and a quill, and sat on a stool alongside her master. Ozzie was struck with the distinct idea that he was on trial.

  “What is this all about?” Lady Zoone inquired, her voice devoid of its usual humor.

  Nymm tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. Aunt Temperance sometimes did the same thing when they were playing chess. It meant she was feeling stuck, seeking a way to maneuver out of a predicament.

  But how is Nymm stuck? Ozzie wondered. He’s the one who called me here.

  “I want to know more about your doorway, Eridean boy,” the wizard said at last.

  Salamanda began fiercely scribbling on her parchment, prompting Nymm to frown. “No need to transcribe anything tonight, Miss Smink. Let’s keep it informal. Off the record.”

  “Oh, yes, sir,” Salamanda said. She
tucked away the parchment but kept the quill in her hands, fiddling with it nervously.

  “Why off the record, Isidorus?” Lady Zoone interjected. “As I told you before—in confidence, I might add—I think the best approach is to wait until all the wizards arrive. Then we can have Ozzie tell his story. Officially.”

  “I’ll go before the council,” Ozzie said eagerly. “There’s lots I have to say. Not just about the door, but . . .” He was thinking about revealing his suspicions that a glibber spy was lurking around the crew’s tower, but Nymm was glaring at him with eyes as sharp as wasp stings, which caused him to lose his nerve.

  “What I am trying to determine, Zaria,” Nymm said, turning his venomous expression back on Lady Zoone, “is if it’s worthwhile to waste the council’s time with this matter. We have many important issues to discuss during the convention.”

  “A door to an entire world has collapsed!” Lady Zoone said. “A world that—”

  “Yes,” Nymm snarled, “I know. A world that you are fond of. But I’m afraid that doesn’t make it important to the entire multiverse.”

  “My aunt is there!” Ozzie cried, jumping to his feet.

  “Must I remind you, Zaria,” Nymm continued, ignoring Ozzie’s outburst, “that Eridea is a dying world?”

  “And I mean to keep it alive,” Lady Zoone said firmly, the creatures in her hair chirruping in agreement. “I have spent the better part of five hundred years exploring the distant reaches of the universe. I have seen far more inhospitable places than Eridea.”

  Five hundred years? Ozzie thought. Lady Zoone didn’t look a day over . . . well, Aunt Temperance had taught him it was impolite to guess people’s ages. But she certainly didn’t look half a millennium old, that was for sure.

  Nymm chortled at Lady Zoone’s remark. “Ah, yes, Zaria. You have never been one to plant your roots for very long. But now your wayward days of wandering the worlds are over. Managing the nexus is a grave responsibility. And I shall warn you of this: no matter your fondness for Eridea, your primary responsibility is to protect Zoone, not to worry about individual worlds. If Eridea continues to spiral downward—well, the council would have no choice but to close the door anyway . . . just as we did with Glibbersaug.”

  “Eridea is not Glibbersaug,” Zaria objected, her green eyes flashing passionately. “And besides—”

  “Yes, I know your opinion when it comes to Glibbersaug,” Nymm retorted. “You would rescue it, too. As if sending a conjuring of wizards would help sort out their problems. Better—and safer—for the entire multiverse to slam the doors on these dying worlds.”

  Ozzie suddenly felt hot and clammy. In one sense, if the door was going to remain closed, he was glad to be stuck on this side. But there was Aunt Temperance to consider. In fact, there was an entire world to think about. He desperately scavenged his brain for some words that might convince Nymm that it was of utmost importance to open the door, only to realize that the irascible wizard had fixed his hawkish eyes on him again.

  “It wasn’t my fault that the door collapsed,” Ozzie quavered. “There was this guy—Mr. Crudge—and when he went on the track, it—”

  “Yes, yes,” Nymm interrupted with a dismissive wave. “Zaria mentioned him.”

  “He tried to take my key and—”

  “Show me the key,” Nymm commanded.

  Ozzie pulled out the key, attached to the cord around his neck, and lifted it for the cantankerous wizard to contemplate. “The thing is, when Mr. Crudge touched it—”

  “Enough about this foolish Eridean man,” Nymm snapped. “He’s not important.”

  Salamanda dropped her quill pen. The clatter caused the bat in the corner to cough and release a warm cloud of smoke.

  Nymm threw Salamanda a warning glance before saying to Ozzie, “The key you have in your possession is ancient. Certain keys can only be used by particular people or certain . . . bloodlines.”

  “It came from Augustus Sparks,” Lady Zoone said, looking meaningfully at Nymm.

  Augustus Sparks? Ozzie thought. He had heard that name somewhere before. It took him a moment to recall that it was the name of his great-grandfather, or put another way, Aunt Temperance’s grandfather. Ozzie had never met him; he had died before Ozzie was born. But there was a faded sepia-toned photo of him in his room, back in Apartment 2B. Ozzie resurrected the photo in his memory. In it, Augustus Sparks was wearing a snappy suit and an unusually tall top hat.

  Is that what Lady Zoone meant by a secret? Ozzie wondered. Zoone is connected to my family? To Aunt Temperance? To me?

  “Keys to Eridea are extremely rare,” Nymm continued. “Not even I have one. Perhaps it would be in everyone’s best interests if the key does not remain with the boy.”

  “Do you mean he should give it to us?” Salamanda asked, only to have Nymm glare at her. “I meant the wizards. Well, you. Because, you know. You’re the head wizard.”

  “I know my place, Miss Smink,” Nymm rumbled. “What I’d like you to learn is yours.”

  “The key is mine,” Ozzie declared, quickly stuffing it back inside his shirt and taking his seat again. “I mean, it’s Aunt Temperance’s anyway.”

  “Indeed,” Lady Zoone agreed. “If you so desperately want a key to Eridea, Isidorus, it can be arranged. Shall I lend you mine?”

  “I’m not concerned about your key,” Nymm quarreled. “But what about the boy? What if someone attempts to steal his?”

  “And who would want to do that?” Lady Zoone wondered. “You seem quite fond of reminding me how unimportant Eridea is.”

  Nymm’s only reply was to scowl.

  “Ozzie will keep his key,” Lady Zoone decreed. “But if it makes you feel any better, Isidorus, let me assure you that it never leaves his neck. Besides, he rooms with Captain Cho—and a skyger. I’m sure that will be enough to deter the hordes of thieves out to find their way into the dying world of Eridea.”

  “All right, Zaria,” Nymm conceded. “You’ve made your point. Keep the key, Eridean boy, but I advise you to stay away from the door. I’ve personally examined it, and it appears very unstable. That means dangerous.”

  “But it can be repaired, right?” Ozzie pressed.

  “Perhaps,” Nymm replied curtly. “That’s a decision for the council. And they may not view this broken door as a priority.”

  “Let Ozzie go before them,” Lady Zoone said, rising to her inestimable height. “Let him serve as an ambassador for his world. To show them there is some value there and that the door is worthy of their attention.”

  “You have a lot of faith in this boy,” Master Nymm said. “I hope it is not misplaced, Zaria.”

  “It isn’t.”

  Nymm was now staring at Ozzie with such intensity that it caused him to shrink into his seat. He could feel beads of perspiration rolling down his temples. He knew it wasn’t because of the heat emanating from the bat in the corner.

  “I will take it under advisement,” Nymm said at last. “I may be able to find a slot in the schedule for the Eridean boy. Perhaps on the last night, when the matters of utmost importance have already been discussed. But I make no promises.”

  Lady Zoone sighed. “That much is clear, Isidorus. Come on, Ozzie, let’s go.”

  Ozzie couldn’t believe his ears. That was it? Nymm was going to consider letting him talk to the council? He was going to consider if it was important enough to fix the door?

  He stood up, trembling with frustration. “Listen,” he began, but Lady Zoone placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. Salamanda scrambled to her feet and escorted them to the exit.

  “Bye, Ozzie,” she mouthed before closing the door behind them.

  Once they were in the corridor, Ozzie felt his exasperation spiral into anxiety. It was suddenly occurring to him that he might never return to his world—especially, it seemed, if Nymm had his way. And that would mean . . .

  “Nymm has to let me go before the council,” Ozzie said as he followed Lady Zoo
ne down the corridor. “He has to. Because . . . because . . .”

  Lady Zoone paused midstride and turned toward him. Ozzie gazed at her face, way up there at the top of her impossibly long neck.

  Everything gushed out of him. “Aunt Temperance is in trouble. And the thing is . . . the last time we talked, properly talked, we had a fight. I told her I didn’t want to stay with her. And then I just came here, and she’s back there, and she’s not doing well, and . . .”

  Lady Zoone leaned down and placed one of her spindly hands on his shoulder. “You’re feeling guilty,” she surmised.

  Ozzie nodded.

  “All is not lost, Ozzie,” she assured him. “We’re going to do our best. But you have to try and understand the way things work with wizards. Remember the orrery? The map of the multiverse?”

  “Yeah,” Ozzie said. “What about it?”

  “Eridea is but one tiny orb in the multiverse. There are a thousand other orbs—a thousand other worlds—for Master Nymm and the Council of Wizardry to consider.”

  Ozzie frowned. “I know, but . . .”

  Lady Zoone stood to full height. “I don’t know about you, but I could really use a cup of . . . what do you call it in Eridea—hot chocolate? I believe Miss Mongo found a recipe for it. Come on, let’s head to the kitchens.”

  She was already continuing down the corridor, so Ozzie sullenly set after her. He understood Lady Zoone’s point . . . but the difference was that it wasn’t just any world the wizards were worrying about—or not worrying about.

  It was his world. Sure, he hadn’t exactly been missing it, but it was still his. And, more important, it was his aunt who was stuck there.

  15

  The Curious Curse

  It was the end of another porting shift, the end of another day, and Ozzie was back in the crew’s common room, sitting at his favorite window seat, staring at the Zoone skies. His busy day had done nothing to blunt his frustration about Nymm. How could the wizard so easily dismiss Aunt Temperance? His entire world? And now, here he was, sitting in a beautiful place, gazing at a magical skyscape. What was Aunt Temperance looking at? Her ceiling.