Carry On

81

EBB

He would have killed that girl.

I don’t suppose I had a choice but to come back.

THE MAGE

There’s no time.

The Humdrum is devouring us.

And today’s the day—today is a day that my magic might work. Holidays are auspicious, the solstice lingers.

Today is the day.

This is the hour.

If only Simon were here.…

I thought we’d done it—at great cost, yes—but I thought we’d done it, Lucy. We’d brought the Greatest Mage.

He is the greatest mage.

I hid him among the Normals, so that no one would know. So that no one would ask. I hid him until he was ready. Until he called me to him, just like every prophecy said he would!

I didn’t know that he was broken.

I couldn’t see that he was a cracked vessel.

Maybe it was too much power for a babe to hold—maybe that was my mistake.

If he were here, I could fix it. I have different spells now. (I’d been looking too far in the past; I should have realized that new power must come from new psalms.) I have a chance now, I could relieve him.

But Simon isn’t here. And I can’t wait for him. The Humdrum won’t wait. The Pitches are on their way—

This woman will have to do. She’s the brightest star in the Realm, next to Simon.

Our Simon.

I can take her power.

I just have to kill her first.

EBB

I don’t suppose I ever had the choices I thought I did.

THE MAGE

She’s all brute force and ’90s clichés.

I’ve seen her weave spells like a master on the goats and the grounds. But in battle, Ebb’s a ca

I’d thought about making her redundant over the years—what does Watford need with goats?—but she’s powerful, and she protects the school when I’m away.

I wouldn’t sacrifice her today if the fate of our world didn’t hang in the balance.

EBB

I’m out of practice.

I was never in practice, with spells like this. I know ten spells to turn water into whisky, and I can bring the goats in with a turn of phrase. But I never saw the point of all this.

Even when Nico and me would get in a dust-up, I’d usually settle him with Don’t worry, be happy or Hush little baby.

My only chance now is to overpower Davy.

I throw, “Head over heels!” and “Hit the floor!”—spells I learned in pub brawls. The Mage does something I’ve never seen before—obeying the spells instead of letting them hit him.

He looks like a madman. His shirt is torn open, and he’s covered in muck. Who knows what dark magic he’s about—he still hasn’t said what he wants from me. We’re circling each other like two wolves.

“You’re no match for me, Ebb,” he says, then shouts, “Resistance is futile!”

I absorb the spell. I can do that sometimes, let a spell burn out in my magic. “Bend over backwards!” I shout back desperately, when I’m able.

The Mage swings back into the ground like he’s made of rubber—then picks himself up, sighing.

THE MAGE

She caught me by surprise with that one, and my head is ringing. “I’m sorry, Ebb. But I don’t have time for this. I need your power—the World of Mages needs your power.”

“I’m not a fighter,” she says.

“I know. But I am.” I step closer. “Make this sacrifice for your people.”

“What do you want from me, Davy?” She’s scared. I’m sorry for that. A hank of blond hair covers one of her eyes.

“Your power. I need your power.”

“I’ll give it to you. I don’t want it.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” I say. “I have to take it.”

She steels her jaw, holding her shepherd’s staff between us. “Helter skelter!” she screams—and the room goes mad.

Floorboards peel up and whirl about us like ticker tape. Every ancient window shatters.

It’s a child’s spell. A tantrum. For upsetting board games and scattering marbles.

The power in this woman …

Wasted.

I stumble forward through the chaos and sink my blade in her chest.

EBB

I decide the Mage must be right, even though he talks like a madman.

I decide this is for the best. This is for a reason.

I hope that someone remembers to bring the na

82

SIMON

As I reach the door to the White Chapel, every window explodes. It sounds like the world is ending, and it’s made of glass.

I hope I’m not too late.…

To stop whatever needs to be stopped.

To help whoever needs to be helped.

I run into the Chapel, behind the pulpit. Then I think about the Mage, and find my way to a room at the back, with a trapdoor hanging open in the ceiling. I flutter my wings—I still have wings—and catch the edge of the opening, hauling myself up.

It’s a round room, ruined now, and the Mage is kneeling in the centre, his eyes closed and his shoulders heaving. There’s someone lying on the ground below him—and for a breath, I think it might be Baz. But Baz went to the numpties; I know he did.

Whoever it is on the floor, it means it’s all started.

I clear my throat and rest my hand on my hip. The blade appears without the incantation. It’s like the whole world is just reacting to me. I don’t even have to think.

I don’t have to think.

The Mage has his hands on the person’s chest. There’s a haze of deep magic around them, and he’s chanting. It takes me a minute to recognize the song.…

“Easy come, easy go. Little high, little low.”

I step forward quietly; I don’t want to interrupt him in the middle of a spell. Especially if he’s trying to revive someone.

“Carry on, carry on,” the Mage sings.

One more silent step, and I see that it’s Ebb beneath him—I cry out, I can’t help it.

The Mage’s head turns, his lips still murmuring Queen lyrics.

“Simon!” he says, so startled that he pulls his hands away.

“Don’t stop,” I say, falling on my knees. “Help her.”

“Simon,” the Mage says again.

Blood flows out of Ebb’s chest.

“Help her!” I say. “She’s dying!”

“I can’t,” the Mage says. “But, Simon. You’re here. I can still help you.”

He reaches for me, his hands wet with Ebb’s blood. And I know I have to tell him now. I stand jerkily, pulling away from him.

The Mage picks up his blade—it’s bloody, too—and stands with me. His head is split open above his ear, bleeding down his neck and shoulder.

“You’re hurt, sir. I can help.”

He shakes his head, staring just past me. I think he’s freaked out by my wings, but I’m not sure I can put them away right now.

“I’m fine, Simon,” he says.

It’s too late, I’ve already thought about making him better: The gash above his ear heals from the outside in, mending itself.

His hand goes to his head. His eyes widen. “Simon.”

My chin starts to wobble, and I squeeze the hilt of my blade till the wobbling stops. I try to think about making Ebb better—I think I’ve been thinking about it all along—but she still lies there, bleeding.

The Mage steps closer to me, like he’s stepping close to an animal. “You’ve come just in time,” he says softly. He lifts his hand and touches my face. I feel blood trickle down my cheek. “I owe you an apology,” he says. “I got so much wrong.”

I look him in the eye. We’re the same height. “No, sir.”

“Not the power,” he says. “You are the most powerful mage who ever lived, Simon. You’re … a miracle.” He cups my face in his wet palm. “But you’re not the Chosen One.”