The Chrestomanci Series: Entire Collection Books 1-7

Janet forced her way among them and seized Cat’s arm. “Cat! What have we done? Don’t tell me these aren’t all witches and warlocks, because I won’t believe you!”

“Ah, my dear Gwendolen!” said Mr Henry Nostrum. “Plan Two is under way.”

By this time, the sloping sides of the meadow were crowded with witches and warlocks. The ground quivered to their trampling and buzzed with their cheerful conversation. There were hundreds of them – a nodding of garish hats and shiny toppers, like the audience at the opening of a bazaar.

As soon as the last necromancer had hurried between the pillars, Henry Nostrum put a heavy possessive hand on Cat’s shoulder. Cat wondered uneasily whether it was just an accident that it was the same hand which held his postcard to Mrs Sharp. He saw that the Willing Warlock had stationed himself by one of the broken pillars, blue-chinned and cheerful as ever in his tight Sunday suit. Mr William Nostrum had put as much of himself as would go behind the other pillar, and, for some reason, he had taken off his heavy silver watch-chain and was swinging it in one hand.

“Now, my dear Gwendolen,” said Henry Nostrum, “would you care for the honour of summoning Chrestomanci?”

“I – I’d rather not,” said Janet.

“Then I’ll take it upon myself,” said Henry Nostrum, perfectly well pleased. He cleared his throat and shouted in a fluting tenor, “Chrestomanci! Chrestomanci! Come to me.”

And Chrestomanci was standing between the pillars.

Chrestomanci must have been on his way up the avenue from church. He had his tall grey hat in one hand, and, with the other, he was in the act of putting his prayer-book into the pocket of his beautiful dove grey coat. The assembled witches and necromancers greeted him with a sort of groaning sigh. Chrestomanci blinked round at them, in his mildest and most bewildered way. He became even vaguer and more bewildered when he happened to see Cat and Janet.

Cat opened his mouth to shout at Chrestomanci to go away. But the Willing Warlock leapt on Chrestomanci the moment he appeared. He was growling. His fingernails were growing into claws and his teeth into fangs.

Chrestomanci stuffed the prayer-book into his pocket and turned his vague look on the Willing Warlock. The Willing Warlock stood still in mid-air and shrank. He shrank so fast, he made a whirring sound. Then he was a small brown caterpillar. He dropped to the grass and wriggled there. But, while he was still shrinking, William Nostrum pounced out from behind the other pillar and deftly wrapped his watch-chain round Chrestomanci’s right hand.

“Behind you!” shrieked Cat and Janet, too late.

After barely one wriggle, the caterpillar burst up out of the grass and became the Willing Warlock again, a little dishevelled, but very pleased with himself. He threw himself on Chrestomanci again. As for Chrestomanci, it was plain that the watch-chain had somehow disabled him completely. There was a second or so of furious struggle in the archway, while the Willing Warlock tried to grab Chrestomanci in both brawny arms, and Chrestomanci tried to get the watch-chain off his wrist using his left hand, and William Nostrum hung on to it fiercely. None of them used any magic, and Chrestomanci seemed only able to shoulder the Willing Warlock weakly aside. After two attempts, the Willing Warlock wrapped his arms round Chrestomanci from behind and William Nostrum dragged a pair of silver handcuffs from his pocket and snapped them on both Chrestomanci’s wrists.

There was a scream of triumph from under the nodding hats of the audience – the scream of true witchcraft, which made the sunlight tremble. Chrestomanci, even more dishevelled than the Willing Warlock, was dragged out from between the pillars. His tall grey hat rolled near Cat’s feet and Henry Nostrum stamped on it, with the greatest satisfaction. Cat tried to get out from under Henry Nostrum’s hand while he did it. And he found he could not move. Mr Nostrum had seen to that with Mrs Sharp’s postcard. Cat had to face the fact that he was as helpless as Chrestomanci seemed to be.

“So it is true!” Henry Nostrum said joyously, as the Willing Warlock bundled Chrestomanci towards the apple tree. “The touch of silver conquers Chrestomanci – the great Chrestomanci!”

“Yes. Isn’t it a nuisance?” Chrestomanci remarked. He was dragged to the apple tree and pushed against it. William Nostrum hurried over to his brother and pulled the watch-chain off Henry’s bulging waistcoat. Two silver watch-chains from two such ample brothers were more than enough to tie Chrestomanci to the tree. William Nostrum hastily twisted the ends into two charmed knots and stood back rubbing his hands. The audience screamed eldritch laughter and clapped. Chrestomanci sagged as if he were tired. His hair hung over his face, his tie was under his left ear, and there was green from the bark of the tree all over his dove grey coat. Cat felt somehow ashamed to look at him in that state. But Chrestomanci seemed quite composed. “Now you’ve got me all tied up in silver, what do you propose doing?” he said.

William Nostrum’s eyes swirled joyfully about. “Oh, the worst we can, my dear sir,” he said. “Be assured of that. We’re sick of you imposing restraints on us, you see. Why shouldn’t we go out and conquer other worlds? Why shouldn’t we use dragon’s blood? Why shouldn’t we be as wicked as we want? Answer me that, sir!”

“You might find the answer for yourself, if you thought,” Chrestomanci suggested. But his voice was drowned in the yelling from the assembled witches and necromancers. While they shouted, Janet began edging quietly towards the tree. She supposed Cat dared not move with Henry Nostrum’s hand on his shoulder, and she felt someone ought to do something.

“Oh, yes,” said Henry Nostrum, cock-a-hoop with pleasure. “We are taking the arts of magic into our own hands today. This world will be ours by this evening. Come Hallowe’en, dear sir, we shall be going out to conquer every other world we know. We are going to destroy you, my dear fellow, and your power. But before we do that, of course, we shall have to destroy this garden.”

Chrestomanci looked thoughtfully down at his hands, hanging limply in the silver handcuffs. “I shouldn’t advise that,” he said. “This garden has things in it from the dawn of all the worlds. It’s a good deal stronger than I am. You’d be striking at the roots of witchcraft – and you’d find it shockingly hard to destroy.”

“Ah,” said Henry Nostrum. “But we know we can’t destroy you unless we destroy the garden, my wily sir. And don’t think we don’t know how to destroy the garden.” He lifted his free hand and clapped Cat on the other shoulder with it. “The means are here.”

Janet, at that moment, stumbled over the block of stone that lay in the grass near the apple tree. “Dratitude!” she said and fell heavily across it. The audience pointed and screamed with laughter, which annoyed her very much. She glared round the circle of Sunday bonnets and hats.

“Up you get, dear Gwendolen,” Henry Nostrum said gleefully. “It’s young Cat who has to go on there.” He put an arm round the helpless Cat, plucked him off the ground and carried him towards the block of stone. William Nostrum bustled up beaming and uncoiling his rope. The Willing Warlock bounced up willingly to help too.

Cat was so terrified that he managed somehow to break the spell. He twisted out of Henry Nostrum’s arms and ran for all he was worth towards the two pillars, trying to fetch out his dragon’s blood as he ran. It was only a few steps to run. But naturally every witch, warlock, necromancer and wizard there instantly cast a spell. The thick smell of magic coiled around the meadow. Cat’s legs felt like two lead posts. His heart hammered. He felt himself running in slow-motion, slower and slower, like a clockwork toy running down. He heard Janet scream at him to run, but he could not move any longer. He stuck just in front of the ruined archway, and he was stiff as a board. It was all he could do to breathe.

The Nostrum brothers and the Willing Warlock collected him from there, and wound the rope round his stiff body. Janet did her best to prevent them.

“Oh please stop! What are you doing?”

“Now, now, Gwendolen,” Henry Nostrum said, rather perplexed. “You know perfectly well. I explained to you most carefully that the garden has to be disenchanted by cutting the throat of an innocent child on that slab of stone there. You agreed it must be so.”

“I didn’t! It wasn’t me!” said Janet.

“Be quiet!” Chrestomanci said, from the tree. “Do you want to be put in Cat’s place?”

Janet stared at him, and went on staring as all the implications struck her. While she stared, Cat, stiff as a mummy and wound in rope, was carried by the Willing Warlock and dumped rather painfully down on the block of stone. Cat stared resentfully at the Willing Warlock. He had always seemed so friendly. Apart from that, Cat was not as frightened as he might have been. Of course Gwendolen had known he had lives to spare. But he hoped his throat would heal after they cut it. He was bound to be very uncomfortable until it did. He turned his eyes up to Janet, meaning to give her a reassuring look.

To his astonishment, Janet was snatched away backwards into nothingness. The only thing which remained of her was a yell of surprise. And the same yell rumbled round the meadow. Everyone there was quite as astonished as Cat.

“Oh good!” Gwendolen said, from the other side of the stone. “I got here in time.”

Everyone stared at her. Gwendolen came from between the pillars, dusting off the dragon’s blood from her fingers with one of Cat’s school essays. Cat could see his signature at the top: Eric Emelius Chant, 26 Coven St, Wolvercote, England, Europe, The World, The Universe – it was his all right. Gwendolen still had her hair up in that strange headdress, but she had taken off the massive golden robes. She had on what must have amounted to underclothes in her new world. They were more magnificent than any of Chrestomanci’s dressing-gowns.

“Gwendolen!” exclaimed Henry Nostrum. He pointed to the space Janet had vanished from. “What – who—?”

“Just a replacement,” Gwendolen explained, in her airiest way. “I saw her and Cat here just now, so I knew—” She noticed Chrestomanci limply tied to the apple tree. “Oh good! You caught him! Just a moment.” She marched over to Chrestomanci and held up her golden underclothes in order to kick him hard on both shins. “Take that! And that!”

Chrestomanci did not try to pretend the kicks did not hurt. He doubled up. The toes of Gwendolen’s shoes were as pointed as nails.

“Now, where was I?” Gwendolen said, turning back to the Nostrum brothers. “Oh, yes. I thought I’d better come back because I wanted to see the fun, and I remembered I’d forgotten to tell you Cat has nine lives. You’ll have to kill him several times, I’m afraid.”

“Nine lives!” shouted Henry Nostrum. “You foolish girl!”

After that, there was such a shouting and outcry from every witch and warlock in the meadow, that no one could have heard anything else. From where Cat lay, he could see William Nostrum leaning towards Gwendolen, red in the face, both eyes whirling, bawling furiously at her, and Gwendolen leaning forward to shout back. As the noise died down a little, he heard William Nostrum booming, “Nine lives! If he has nine lives, you stupid girl, that means he’s an enchanter in his own right!”

“I’m not stupid!” Gwendolen yelled back. “I know that as well as you do! I’ve been using his magic ever since he was a baby. But I couldn’t go on using it if you were going to kill him, could I? That’s why I had to go away. I think it was nice of me to come back and tell you. So there!”

“How can you have used his magic?” demanded Henry Nostrum, even more put out than his brother.

“I just did,” said Gwendolen. “He never minds.”

“I do mind, rather,” Cat said from his uncomfortable slab. “I am here, you know.”

Gwendolen looked down at him as if she was rather surprised that he was. But before she could say anything to Cat, William Nostrum was loudly shushing for silence. He was very agitated. He took a long shiny thing out of his pocket and nervously bent it about.

“Silence!” he said. “We’ve gone too far to draw back now. We’ll just have to discover the boy’s weak point. We certainly can’t kill him unless we find it. He must have one. All enchanters do.” So saying, William Nostrum rounded on Cat and pointed the shiny thing at him. Cat was appalled to see that it was a long silver knife. The knife pointed at his face, even though William Nostrum’s eyes did not. “What is your weak point, boy? Out with it.”

Cat was not saying. It seemed the only chance he had of keeping any of his lives.

“I know,” said Gwendolen. “I did it. I put all his lives into a book of matches. They were easier to use like that. It’s in my room in the Castle. Shall I get it?”

Everyone Cat could see from his uncomfortable position looked relieved to hear this. “That’s all right then,” said Henry Nostrum. “Can he be killed without burning a match?”

“Oh yes,” said Gwendolen. “He drowned once.”

“So the question,” said William Nostrum, very much relieved, “is simply how many lives he has left. How many have you, boy?” The knife pointed at Cat again.