‘Explorer?’ said the clerk hopefully.
Effie passed a shop for alchemists containing cauldrons, Bunsen burners and bags of strange yellow rocks; the ‘Hedgewitch Emporium’, which was a vast colourful mess of different fabrics, wool, packets of dried flowers, tea-bags and books about the moon. She had not come across anything for her own kharakter yet. Did heroes not need shops? She wondered what one would sell.
She knew she should turn back and look for the book stall, but everything here was fascinating to Effie. She told herself she would just go a bit further and then turn back. The large covered market narrowed and became a dark series of twists and turns through corridors lined with the purple velvet fabric. It grew quite dark for a time, and so Effie didn’t notice the young man coming towards her at some speed.
‘Sorry!’ he said, as he careered into her.
He seemed to have come out of a chamber on the left made of yellow silks, with soft, warm lighting glowing from within.
‘That’s OK,’ said Effie.
The young man had dropped something. It was a certificate. Effie bent down to pick it up while the young man caught his breath. She couldn’t help noticing some of what it said as she handed it back. ALCHEMIST HEALER, it said on the top. There were several numbers, including one that looked more important than the others because it was written in gold. It said 6.10.
‘My parents are going to be so happy,’ he said. ‘And when I go back with this!’ He beamed. ‘They always wanted me to be a healer. I was worried that I was a mage, or worse, a galloglass mage. Galloglasses have to go and live on the island, obviously, and I was so scared I was just going to die even if I could get through. But now I can go home! Being an alchemist is nothing to be ashamed of. I can create remedies for wounded adventurers. I’m so happy!’
Effie had understood less than half of this. But he somehow reminded her of older children at her school who had just got their exam results. Although she’d never seen anyone as happy as this with just an A* in some academic subject. This young man was acting as if he’d won a very valuable prize. As if someone had just told him what his life really meant. Which, Effie realised, someone just had.
‘Did you just have a consultation?’ she asked him.
‘Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘With Dr Foulscrape.’
‘Dr Foulscrape?’
‘She’s the very best there is,’ said the young man. ‘At least in this area. Most of them around here are charlatans, of course. But she works here because she genuinely wants to help runaways like me. She’s very good. Incredibly understanding.’
‘Where did you run away from?’ Effie asked.
‘Where does anyone run away from?’ he said, smiling ruefully. ‘Home. My village. Boring everyday life. You must have done the same, surely, if you’re here. I mean, why else does anyone come to the Edgelands? Unless . . .’ He peered at her more closely. ‘Heavens. Are you from the actual island?’
‘Yes,’ said Effie. ‘But I’m a traveller. I go between the worlds.’
‘Don’t you run out of lifeforce really quickly when you’re here?’
‘No,’ said Effie. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Wow,’ he said. ‘And is it all true? Is the island really dangerous and dark and full of murderers?’
‘Not really,’ said Effie. ‘Not where I live. Anyway, you have monsters, don’t you?’
‘Yes, but everyone knows how to deal with monsters.’
The young man rolled up his certificate.
‘I must start for home,’ he said. ‘If I leave now, I might get there by nightfall. I’m going to start building my laboratory straight away. My remedies are going to be known throughout the land!’
He hurried away, leaving Effie looking at the warm light spilling out of the chamber on her left. She walked towards the opening in the fabric that worked as a doorway. There, embroidered in yellowy-gold thread was the name DR FOULSCRAPE. It didn’t sound like a very auspicious name for a doctor. But the young man had recommended her so very highly. She seemed to have completely changed his life.
Effie knew she should turn back now, find a copy of The Chosen Ones – if there was one anywhere in the market – and then take it to her father immediately. She had to get her box back and then go to Dragon’s Green and see her cousins. As well as that, she had to find out about the Sterran Guandré and see if she could discover anything about what the Diberi were planning. She hadn’t seen Raven since yesterday afternoon. Perhaps she’d found something out by now.
And Maximilian would have done some useful research, she was sure. He was so reliable like that. He was focused and intelligent, not hot-headed and impulsive like Effie could be. She wondered what Maximilian would have done if Dr Green had tried to confiscate one of his boons. But he wouldn’t have taken it to class in the first place. He was much too careful for that. It could never happen.
Effie sighed when she remembered how much trouble she was in with the Guild of Craftspeople. And how horrible her father had been. She had probably missed another class at school now too, what with all that waiting around in the Funtime Arcade, which would probably mean another letter home. Effie found she didn’t much want to hurry back. And if she just stayed here a little longer, perhaps she could get a quick consultation. She so desperately wanted to know what her secondary ability – her art – was. And maybe even to buy something nice that went along with it. Something like the silver box for composers, or Festus’s compass.
Before she knew what she was doing, Effie had entered the warmly lit chamber. Inside, all was muted white and cream, with flickering candles in yellow glass holders. There was a reception desk with a thick diary and a candle-lamp on it, but no receptionist. The chamber smelled strongly of lavender, with some other scent that Effie couldn’t quite place. There were several framed certificates hanging precariously from the fabric that functioned as the right-hand wall. Each one carried the name ‘URSULA FOULSCRAPE’ and then a different qualification. One was for ‘divination’, another was for ‘scrying’, whatever that was. Another certificate looked exactly like the one the young man had been carrying, except that at the top it had the words ‘INTERPRETER HEDGEWITCH’. In the middle of this were the numbers 5.50.
Suddenly, a large woman entered the small chamber through a curtained opening behind the reception desk. She was wearing a white coat and carrying a clipboard. She had the biggest diamond earrings Effie had ever seen, which looked quite odd with her sensible haircut and clumpy black shoes.
‘Are you Daniella Bounty?’ she asked Effie.
‘No, sorry,’ said Effie.
‘She hasn’t turned up for her appointment,’ said the woman crossly. She shook her head and tutted. ‘Three YEARS is the current waiting time for a consultation with Madame, I mean DOCTOR Foulscrape. Of course we charge double for missed appointments. Dear oh dear. Anyway, who are you and what do you want?’
‘I’m Euphemia Truelove,’ said Effie. ‘I wanted to find out about having a consultation. But if the wait is really three years . . .’
The woman looked at her watch.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘You might just be in luck. If Miss Bounty doesn’t turn up in the next few minutes, I daresay you can take her appointment. Very fortunate you’d be, though. We’ve had people waiting out there offering clients huge sums of money to take their slots, so desperate they’ve been. And after that profile of Madame, I mean DOCTOR Foulscrape in The Liminal recently . . . Here you go.’ The woman gave Effie the clipboard. ‘You can fill that in while you’re waiting.