tell Jinx to go to bed till nearly midnight.
The stone wall that Jinx had heard Simon and Sophie walk through remained a stone wall. Jinx thought of asking Simon if he wanted Jinx to clean the rooms behind it—but he didn’t dare. There was something in Simon that was like a stone wall too, and you couldn’t ask the questions that led beyond it.
“Don’t touch any of the things on the shelves,” Simon said. “They might kill you.”
Jinx knew now that most of the jars said DANGER on them, and some said it in larger, firmer letters than the wasp jar did.
A lot of the time Simon just sat on a high stool, boringly writing away in a book. Jinx sat on the floor beside the skull and read whatever books Simon would let him. Sometimes when he reached for a book, Simon would glance up briefly and say, “Not that one.”
And sometimes, if Simon said that, Jinx waited till another time when the wizard wasn’t paying quite so much attention.
If Simon said nothing, Jinx would take the book, open it very cautiously in case it burst into flames, and read. Some of the books were in neither Urwish nor Samaran, but in some other language. This didn’t matter as long as you listened to the books, he realized. He wondered how many languages there were in the world, and how many places besides the Urwald.
When Sophie was visiting, she always asked Jinx about his reading. Sometimes she talked to him using the languages he’d only read in books. Jinx listened carefully—the words weren’t pronounced quite the way he’d expected—before answering her.
“Simon, the boy’s taught himself four languages,” Sophie said.
“Mm,” said Simon.
Some of the books they discussed were in Samaran. A lot of these were about magic, and Jinx supposed Samara must be a very magical place. But when Jinx asked Sophie questions about Samara, she frowned.
“Samara’s not important, Jinx. Read about the Urwald.”
“It must be important,” said Jinx. “You live there, don’t you?”
Sophie thought flip-floppy blue-and-silver thoughts, like she was nervous. “Jinx, Urwalders don’t belong in Samara.”
“Why not?” They were speaking Samaran, and Jinx had just read a Samaran book, something about elephants, a magical beast he thought he would very much like to see.
“Because we’re not wanted there,” Simon snapped, not looking up from his writing. “Go sweep out the loft, Jinx.”
Mostly Simon just left Jinx to read, except when he wanted to give him orders.
“Hand me Calvin,” said Simon one day.
“Er, who?” said Jinx. There was no one else in the room but the skull. It grinned conspiratorially.
Simon snapped his fingers impatiently. Jinx got up and took the skull to Simon.
“Its, er, his name was Calvin?”
“It is now. Calvin’s an old enemy.”
“Oh,” said Jinx. “Er, did you kill him by magic?”
“It is very, very difficult to take someone’s life by magic.”
“Oh,” said Jinx.
“I don’t go around killing people,” said Simon, with one of those little purple laughing-at-Jinx flashes.
“Well, then what happened to him?”
Simon tossed the skull up in the air and set it spinning on one finger. “Much less than he deserved.”
He didn’t seem to mind the question, but he wasn’t going to answer it.
“Oh,” said Jinx. “The barbarians drink wine out of the skulls of their enemies.”
“Really? I use Calvin for a paperweight.” Simon set Calvin down on a scroll he had just unrolled. “Where do these barbarians live?”
“In the Blacksmiths’ Clearing,” said Jinx. “Actually, anyone who lives in another clearing is a barbarian.”
This memory had just come to him. His clearing seemed a long time ago now, and he didn’t really remember what it looked like. He wondered what exactly Calvin had done to annoy Simon.
“I’m not sure how people drink out of skulls,” Jinx added. Calvin had too many holes in him to make a good cup.
“Like this,” said Simon. He flipped