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18 February 2007 02:38 pmSick (and probably nearly dying) with a cold or not, there are still things to be done: Michael's off to Market Chipping to gather the supplies they need and it's not as if Ingary's new Royal Wizard been lying in bed staring up uselessly at the ceiling. No, he's been busy doing things like planning and plotting and theorizing and coming up with all manner of hypothetical happenings: it's what he's best at. He is a philosopher, after all, and things need to be done. When Michael returns, he brings news of a hat shop in Market Chipping for sale, wondering if they can move the castle there.
That will involve moving Calcifer, and that's no mean feat. The concept clearly frightens Calcifer, but it can be done with a bit of work and a bit of magic and again with careful planning and plotting.
If only Sophie hadn't whitewashed over all the runes; they'll all have to be redone. Since she has no memory of where any of them were, he sets her another task and asks her to think what they should sell if they take the shop. He's thinking of moving the Porthaven door there. Mid-calculation, he makes his way back downstairs to ask Sophie where she might like to live -- what kind of house -- and the third time he graces the downstairs, he's dressed to go out. Despite Sophie's protests that his cold will be worse, he's determined. "I shall die and then you'll all be sorry." He heads out, disguised and coughing pathetically, into the area outside Market Chipping.
When he returns an hour or so later, he sheds the cape that made his disguise and tells Michael he took the shop. "It's got a useful shed at the back and a house at the side, and I took the lot. I'm not sure what I shall pay for it with, though."
"What about the money you get if you find Prince Justin?" Michael is young: he's got so much to learn.
"You forget: the whole object of this operation is not to look for Prince Justin. We are going to vanish... but first, I'm going back upstairs to sleep off this wretched cold." Shooting a meaninful and piercing glance at Sophie, he turns and heads upstairs. The sounds of sneezes and coughs follows him: he's fatigued, but things have to be done. And if he doesn't do them, who will?
Some hours later, restless and red-eyed, he's downstairs for what he hopes is the last time today. "This is positively my last appearance." His voice at this point is little more than a sad croak. "I forgot to say that Mrs. Pentstemmon is being buried tomorrow on her estate near Porthaven and I shall need this suit cleaned." Dropping the grey-and-scarlet suit into Sophie's lap, he gives what clearly used to be his blue-and-silver suit a glance: it's the one she cut up and is busy sewing now. "You're attending to the wrong suit. This is the one I like, but I haven't the energy to clean it myself."
"You don't need to go to the funeral, do you?" Michael's voice is anxious and if he had the energy, Howl might even be a bit suspicious.
"I wouldn't dream of staying away. Mrs. Pentstemmon made me the wizard I am. I have to show my respects."
Michael protests, though, telling him his cold's worse; Howl ignore's Sophie's comment beneath her breath about how he's made it worse for himself by running around. She really is more than just a bit self-righteous.
"I'll be all right as long as I stay out of the sea wind. it's a bitter place, the Pentstemmon estate. The trees are all bent sideways and there's no shelter for miles."
Michael's on edge still. "What about the Witch?"
Turning to go back upstairs, Howl's cough is quite piteous. "I shall go in disguise, probably as another corpse."
Being this underappreciated is such a trial.
That will involve moving Calcifer, and that's no mean feat. The concept clearly frightens Calcifer, but it can be done with a bit of work and a bit of magic and again with careful planning and plotting.
If only Sophie hadn't whitewashed over all the runes; they'll all have to be redone. Since she has no memory of where any of them were, he sets her another task and asks her to think what they should sell if they take the shop. He's thinking of moving the Porthaven door there. Mid-calculation, he makes his way back downstairs to ask Sophie where she might like to live -- what kind of house -- and the third time he graces the downstairs, he's dressed to go out. Despite Sophie's protests that his cold will be worse, he's determined. "I shall die and then you'll all be sorry." He heads out, disguised and coughing pathetically, into the area outside Market Chipping.
When he returns an hour or so later, he sheds the cape that made his disguise and tells Michael he took the shop. "It's got a useful shed at the back and a house at the side, and I took the lot. I'm not sure what I shall pay for it with, though."
"What about the money you get if you find Prince Justin?" Michael is young: he's got so much to learn.
"You forget: the whole object of this operation is not to look for Prince Justin. We are going to vanish... but first, I'm going back upstairs to sleep off this wretched cold." Shooting a meaninful and piercing glance at Sophie, he turns and heads upstairs. The sounds of sneezes and coughs follows him: he's fatigued, but things have to be done. And if he doesn't do them, who will?
Some hours later, restless and red-eyed, he's downstairs for what he hopes is the last time today. "This is positively my last appearance." His voice at this point is little more than a sad croak. "I forgot to say that Mrs. Pentstemmon is being buried tomorrow on her estate near Porthaven and I shall need this suit cleaned." Dropping the grey-and-scarlet suit into Sophie's lap, he gives what clearly used to be his blue-and-silver suit a glance: it's the one she cut up and is busy sewing now. "You're attending to the wrong suit. This is the one I like, but I haven't the energy to clean it myself."
"You don't need to go to the funeral, do you?" Michael's voice is anxious and if he had the energy, Howl might even be a bit suspicious.
"I wouldn't dream of staying away. Mrs. Pentstemmon made me the wizard I am. I have to show my respects."
Michael protests, though, telling him his cold's worse; Howl ignore's Sophie's comment beneath her breath about how he's made it worse for himself by running around. She really is more than just a bit self-righteous.
"I'll be all right as long as I stay out of the sea wind. it's a bitter place, the Pentstemmon estate. The trees are all bent sideways and there's no shelter for miles."
Michael's on edge still. "What about the Witch?"
Turning to go back upstairs, Howl's cough is quite piteous. "I shall go in disguise, probably as another corpse."
Being this underappreciated is such a trial.
