Emily Rodda - Shadowgate

‘I have never seen anything like it,’ said Barda, sinking back onto the stool again. ‘It made the hair rise on the back of my neck!’

Feeling quite pleased at the excitement he had caused, Lief sat down.

Bess’s eyes fluttered open. They focused on him, widened, and seemed to glow.

‘Ah,’ she breathed. ‘Thank you, Lewin. You have made an old woman very happy. Wear it for an hour—till midnight. That will be enough.’

She rubbed her hands. ‘Now!’ she said. ‘Let me entertain you!’

The companions looked at her blankly, and she laughed.

‘Do you think that the Masked Ones have only acrobats, singers and clowns to offer?’ she cried, waving at the people practising by the central fire. ‘Why, we can do far more than that! I, for example, can read minds!’

‘Is that so?’ asked Barda dryly.

‘Indeed,’ said Bess. ‘But to do it I must have my trusty glass!’

Grunting with effort, she bent and lifted from the ground the glass ball Lief had last seen in her wagon. She placed the ball in the centre of the table.

‘Now, who is to be my subject?’ she asked. ‘Berry? Are you willing?’

‘Certainly,’ agreed Barda, grinning broadly. ‘But I warn you—no one who has ever tried it has been able to read my mind. My skull is too thick, perhaps.’

‘Then I will begin with something simple,’ Bess said calmly. ‘Think of a number between one and nine. Make your nephews aware of what it is, if you wish, but do not tell me.’

Barda shrugged. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I have it.’

Below the table top, where Bess could not see, he held up five fingers, telling Lief and Jasmine that the number he had chosen was five.

‘Concentrate on the number, all of you,’ said Bess. ‘Try to think of nothing else.’

She held her hands just above the glass ball. She closed her eyes and began to chant in a low, sing-song voice.

The table top seemed to rise slightly. Then, slowly, it began to spin. The purple cloth shimmered as it moved, its hem whispering as it brushed the dusty grass. The glass ball turned in the centre, winking in the candlelight.

Lief felt a chill run down his spine. He knew this must be a trick, but the sight was eerie. Bess is a good actor, he thought.

Bess’s blind owl face loomed over the turning table. Her hands, with their many flashing rings, cast shadows on the winking glass ball.

No doubt she has done this a thousand times, Lief thought. As her mother did before her. And her grandmother and great-grandmother too, no doubt.

Suddenly he was filled with a strange sort of pride to be among these talented people, sharing their life. Almost, he regretted that he had to leave them so soon.

‘The visions are hazy,’ Bess murmured. ‘I cannot see clearly. Someone’s mind is wandering.’

She shook her head impatiently. ‘That number is no good to me now. I will have to try again. Berry—double the number! Then—then multiply it by—by five! The answer is your new number.’

‘Very well,’ Barda said. He glanced at Lief and Jasmine, who nodded. The new number was fifty.

They were all concentrating hard now, but Bess shook her head again.

‘I cannot understand it!’ she muttered to herself. ‘Why can I not see it?’

She seemed really distressed. Lief began to feel sorry for her.

‘Divide your new number by the number you first thought of,’ Bess ordered, frantically moving her hands over the glass ball.

Ten, Lief thought. Fifty divided by five is ten.

Bess drew a deep breath. Her hands slowed.

‘Better,’ she said softly. ‘Now, take away—ah yes!—take away seven, the number of magic! And then concentrate—concentrate hard on the number that remains.’

Ten minus seven, thought Lief. Three. Three… three… three…

The table slowed, and became still.

‘Ah… at last!’ Bess breathed. ‘I see it! The number in your minds is… three!’

Lief, Barda and Jasmine exclaimed and clapped.

‘Amazing!’ cried Barda. ‘How did you do it?’

Bess shrugged and straightened her shawls. ‘Who am I to try to explain the mysterious power of the glass?’ she said solemnly. But her eyes were twinkling behind her mask.

And suddenly, thinking over what had happened, Lief realised that she had been acting all the time. Her pretended hesitation and distress had disguised a very simple trick.

If you multiply a number by two and then by five, you are really multiplying it by ten! he thought. So if you then divide your total by the original number, ten will always be your answer. Take away seven from ten—and you are left with three.

So that was how Bess had ‘read’ their minds. Whichever number they started with, the end result would be three, every time!

He smiled beneath his mask.

‘The spinning table top is not so mysterious,’ Jasmine said boldly. ‘I have seen something a little like it before. I am sure you make it move by working a pedal under the table.’

Bess laughed heartily. ‘You are not easily impressed, young Jay,’ she said. ‘But of course you are right. I can make the table move and stop again with the slightest tap of my foot. It is just a little trick—to make the performance more interesting.’

‘It does that,’ said Barda. ‘But I still do not understand how—’

‘Ah, here are our drinks at last!’ Bess cried. She took the glass ball and set it carefully on the ground beside her chair.

Rust appeared carrying a loaded tray. ‘I fear there is no honey, Bess,’ she said, bending to place two small cakes, two cups and a stone jug on the table. ‘The last jar has disappeared from the food wagon. That young thief, Zerry, took it, no doubt. I do not know why you put up with him!’

‘Zerry has very light fingers,’ Bess agreed calmly, taking the cork from the jug and filling the cups with deep red wine. ‘After all, he has lived by thieving ever since he could walk.’

She handed one of the cups to Barda. ‘But that is just why I wanted him, Rust. If he can take a purse from a man’s coat, without that man noticing, he can learn to deceive an audience with ease. He will be a great magician one day.’

Rust sniffed and straightened up, tucking the empty tray under her arm.

‘Perhaps,’ she said darkly. ‘Though Plug says that he neglects his lessons, preferring to spend time with the horses. Perhaps—’ She broke off, and her hand flew to her mouth.

She was staring at Lief, her eyes bulging with shock.

‘Ah, you have noticed Lewin’s mask at last,’ said Bess lightly. ‘Does it not suit him?’

‘Bess!’ The fox-woman’s voice was a strangled whisper. ‘Bess, you cannot—’

‘You know better than to tell me what I can and cannot do, Rust!’ Bess growled. ‘Leave us at once!’

The fox-woman ducked her head and stumbled away.

There was an awkward silence. Then Bess sighed.

‘We must not let poor Rust spoil our pleasure,’ she said. ‘She respects our old traditions far too well, and will not see that rules must change with the times.’

She lifted her cup.

‘Good health!’ she said, and drank deeply.

‘Good health!’ Barda repeated. He sipped his own wine and smacked his lips. ‘Very good!’ he said.

From his pocket he took the little carved box that he had been trying to open ever since he came by it in the Os-Mine Hills. A small rod of polished wood protruded from one of the sides, very near the top. He passed the box to Bess.

‘Here is a puzzle for you,’ he said. ‘I thought I had solved it, but there is more than one lock. Would you like to try your skill?’

Bess took the little box in her enormous hands and turned it over with interest. Barda watched, grinning, as she pressed the carving here and there. He had spent hours working on the box in Broome. He was sure she would not be able to open it.