long white beard and blue eyes crackling with sparks, and he wore a blue robe and a matching pointy hat. He was smiling, which didn’t quite go with the flashing pink clouds of fury that gathered around him like a rose-colored thunderstorm.
“What are you doing out of your lair, Bonemaster?” said Simon.
So this was the Bonemaster! The wizard of horrible tales and bottle-shaped fears. He looked almost kindly. The things boiling in clouds around his head said he wasn’t, though. The pink clouds had knives in them. Jinx had never seen anyone whose feelings came out in cutlery before.
Jinx would have been sure he was about to die, if Simon hadn’t been there.
“Not looking for you , certainly, Simon,” said the Bonemaster. “But since we’ve met so pleasantly, why don’t we go to your house and collect what you stole from me?”
“No,” said Simon. “Not even in exchange for what you stole from me.”
“Did I offer that? Anyway, I stole nothing,” said the Bonemaster. “I took only what was owed.”
“Step off the path and I’ll give you what you’re owed.”
“Big talk, Simon, as usual. But you can’t fight me—you haven’t the power. That burn’s healed nicely, I see.”
The wizards were boiling rage at each other now. The Bonemaster continued to look faintly amused, but the knives in the pink cloud spun about hungrily.
The Bonemaster flicked his eyes at Jinx. “Got a boy, have you? And just big enough to be of use, I see.”
Simon stepped in front of Jinx. “It’s not your business.”
“Well, it won’t work, Simon. You haven’t the power or the intelligence to make it work. Let alone the ability to finish what you start. I always said so.”
They glared at each other, Simon with mounting fury and the Bonemaster with cool disapproval. Three of the knives in the pink cloud were now gently dripping blood.
“Come on, Jinx,” said Simon, turning away.
“Yes, go on, Jinx,” said the Bonemaster. “Don’t stay to—”
“Don’t you call him by name!” Simon snarled.
He grabbed Jinx by the arm and stalked off along the path. Jinx looked over his shoulder, afraid the Bonemaster was going to follow them and suck out their souls. The Bonemaster just stood there looking after them and smiling.
Simon was in a red rage. Jinx waited till it had faded to a dull orange before asking, “Was that really the Bonemaster?”
“Obviously.”
“I always heard he was a really evil wizard.”
“You heard right.”
“He looks—”
“Don’t judge people by how they look,” said Simon. “And don’t ever go near him, Jinx. Ever.”
No fear of that—who would? Nobody could ever be fooled by the Bonemaster’s smile. “He has knives in his thoughts.”
“I’m sure he does.”
“It’s lucky for us we weren’t off the path,” said Jinx.
“Oh, you think he could have hurt us? You think he’s a more powerful wizard than I am? Is that what you think?”
“No,” said Jinx, who had been thinking exactly that.
“Anyone could have power the way he gets it. If they were willing to do the things he’s willing to do. Which I am not .”
“Oh. What—”
“And I don’t owe him a thing!”
8
The Spell with Something Wrong about It
S imon had been behaving strangely, even for him. He didn’t cook and he hardly ate. He spent days on end studying a red leather-bound book and comparing it page by page to other books, and stalking around the floor of his workroom in a circle, then retracing his steps backward, muttering under his breath.
He would not answer Jinx’s questions about the Bonemaster. Jinx particularly wanted to know what the Bonemaster had meant by just big enough to be of use . Somehow it hadn’t sounded like it had anything to do with splitting firewood or mucking out the goats’ shed.
Jinx slipped into the workroom while Simon was gone, hoping to figure out what Simon was up to. He saw Dame Glammer’s knotted polka-dot kerchief up on the highest shelf.
“What are you doing out of your lair, Bonemaster?” said Simon.
So this was the Bonemaster! The wizard of horrible tales and bottle-shaped fears. He looked almost kindly. The things boiling in clouds around his head said he wasn’t, though. The pink clouds had knives in them. Jinx had never seen anyone whose feelings came out in cutlery before.
Jinx would have been sure he was about to die, if Simon hadn’t been there.
“Not looking for you , certainly, Simon,” said the Bonemaster. “But since we’ve met so pleasantly, why don’t we go to your house and collect what you stole from me?”
“No,” said Simon. “Not even in exchange for what you stole from me.”
“Did I offer that? Anyway, I stole nothing,” said the Bonemaster. “I took only what was owed.”
“Step off the path and I’ll give you what you’re owed.”
“Big talk, Simon, as usual. But you can’t fight me—you haven’t the power. That burn’s healed nicely, I see.”
The wizards were boiling rage at each other now. The Bonemaster continued to look faintly amused, but the knives in the pink cloud spun about hungrily.
The Bonemaster flicked his eyes at Jinx. “Got a boy, have you? And just big enough to be of use, I see.”
Simon stepped in front of Jinx. “It’s not your business.”
“Well, it won’t work, Simon. You haven’t the power or the intelligence to make it work. Let alone the ability to finish what you start. I always said so.”
They glared at each other, Simon with mounting fury and the Bonemaster with cool disapproval. Three of the knives in the pink cloud were now gently dripping blood.
“Come on, Jinx,” said Simon, turning away.
“Yes, go on, Jinx,” said the Bonemaster. “Don’t stay to—”
“Don’t you call him by name!” Simon snarled.
He grabbed Jinx by the arm and stalked off along the path. Jinx looked over his shoulder, afraid the Bonemaster was going to follow them and suck out their souls. The Bonemaster just stood there looking after them and smiling.
Simon was in a red rage. Jinx waited till it had faded to a dull orange before asking, “Was that really the Bonemaster?”
“Obviously.”
“I always heard he was a really evil wizard.”
“You heard right.”
“He looks—”
“Don’t judge people by how they look,” said Simon. “And don’t ever go near him, Jinx. Ever.”
No fear of that—who would? Nobody could ever be fooled by the Bonemaster’s smile. “He has knives in his thoughts.”
“I’m sure he does.”
“It’s lucky for us we weren’t off the path,” said Jinx.
“Oh, you think he could have hurt us? You think he’s a more powerful wizard than I am? Is that what you think?”
“No,” said Jinx, who had been thinking exactly that.
“Anyone could have power the way he gets it. If they were willing to do the things he’s willing to do. Which I am not .”
“Oh. What—”
“And I don’t owe him a thing!”
8
The Spell with Something Wrong about It
S imon had been behaving strangely, even for him. He didn’t cook and he hardly ate. He spent days on end studying a red leather-bound book and comparing it page by page to other books, and stalking around the floor of his workroom in a circle, then retracing his steps backward, muttering under his breath.
He would not answer Jinx’s questions about the Bonemaster. Jinx particularly wanted to know what the Bonemaster had meant by just big enough to be of use . Somehow it hadn’t sounded like it had anything to do with splitting firewood or mucking out the goats’ shed.
Jinx slipped into the workroom while Simon was gone, hoping to figure out what Simon was up to. He saw Dame Glammer’s knotted polka-dot kerchief up on the highest shelf.
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