The Witch's Daughter (Lamb & Castle Book 1) by J.M. Sanford

Author:J.M. Sanford [Sanford, J.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-05-26T22:00:00+00:00

15: AT THE SOUL FORGE

Off Ilamira’s Main Street, the passageways diminished to little more than corridors lined with narrow-fronted buildings three or four stories tall. Most of them had expensively glazed shop fronts, carrying riches Amelia had only ever heard of in stories. Or better yet, strange artefacts that she couldn’t identify at all. Meg marched briskly on while Amelia followed reluctantly, taking in all she could. Here, a sign advertised love potions to last a lifetime (longer or shorter periods available, ask within); there, a display of iridescent stones and hanging crystals glittered and caught her eye.

“Doesn’t Harold need a cloak too?” Amelia asked.

“Harold can shiver.”

“No, I mean…” Amelia couldn’t guess why she and Meg needed anonymity but Harold did not. The rain Meg had promised hadn’t yet materialised, and Amelia was too warm in the thick cloak. “Who are we hiding from?” she whispered.

“Nobody especially. Better safe than sorry, though. Harold: wait for us here,” said Meg, indicating a bench beside what looked like a horse trough and a fountain. “We won’t be any longer than we have to be,” she told him, and they left him there.

Amelia glanced over her shoulder, still worried. “Where are we going? I thought you said I needed a –”

“Hush now! He’s not much use to us here in the magical district, believe me. And the next stop is the soul forge,” said Meg, so quietly Amelia could barely hear her above the noise of the crowd. “Keep quiet and don’t call me by my name. In fact, don’t speak at all. Can you manage that, or do I have to put a spell on you?”

Amelia shook her head violently. “Oh no! You needn’t do that!”

“The Captain said you’re to choose the soul, so I’ll pick out one that’s suitable for the job, and you just nod ‘yes’ if you’re satisfied with it. And don’t go getting all sentimental and picky, because there’s a lot of people I want to talk to before we leave. See if anyone knows anything about those blasted griffins,” she muttered. “Come along now, we’re almost there. And don’t forget: not a word! One squeak out of you and I just might turn you into a mouse, understand?”

Amelia nodded mutely and vigorously. It was hard to say if Meg was joking or not, but better not to take any chances. She followed Meg into a building with no shop sign over the door or the murky window. It might almost have been a private house, for all that it advertised, but Amelia could see otherwise as soon as she went inside.

The shop’s interior was dimly lit and musty smelling. It was much smaller than the haberdasher’s, largely dominated by a big old desk with dozens of drawers lining its sides, and a lantern sat upon it. All around, on every available surface, stood hundreds upon hundreds of glass jars: every size and shape imaginable; every one of them empty. Or at least, so they appeared…

A man dozed in a frayed armchair beside the desk, his hat over his eyes.

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