Aftermath

Reposted by request.

This is based on the book, but with a more mature concept of Howl's courting of young ladies and his moral code. I found Howl's predation on young virgins to be curious and got to thinking about possible causes while also looking into the rocky road of his and Sophie's developing relationship.

One major mistake of mine I've noted is that in the book, Howell goes back to blond on Midsummer's Eve and makes a Hamlet joke to boot so my story starting out with him still black haired is incorrect. As I've only noticed it now and it's part of my story... I'm sticking with the mistake. Sorry. Reviews are most welcome and I'm pleased that you're enjoying this story

I do not own anything and write out of love of the story, not to benefit from Diana Wynne Jones' work.

AFF Warning:
Each chapter should have something citrus flavored (except this one), see Chapters for warnings.

HxS, no sex, some gratuitous hand holding

000O000


Chapter 2
In which Michael isn't the only one to be confused

Some people are morning people. Such creatures rise with the sun to begin their honest day's labor with songs in their hearts. Howell Jenkins was not a morning person. He lay stretched out on his back. The only sign of life was one hand fumbling about before pulling a fluffy pillow over his head. Part of a sleeve caught behind him and he struggled before freeing it and stretching the arm crosswise over his head, pillow and all. A few minutes later he rolled over onto his stomach, the pillow muffling his complaints and keeping the Welsh sun slanting in his bedroom window out of his eyes. After a few more minutes he raised his head from its soft cocoon and blinked perplexedly down at his black clad body. That's right, he remembered, black... I'm still in mourning for dear Mrs. Pentstemmon. My hair's probably still that doleful color as well, he continued, pulling a lock into view, but why am I wearing clothes at all? He scratched his head, no hangover so he hadn't been drinking. He looked around the room, everything looked normal, yet he was dressed for the day? Howell usually slept nude, or wearing boxers and possibly a shirt as he had since Sophie came to stay. Sophie! He sat bolt upright, right hand moving to his chest, to the constant rhythm of his restored heart. Where was she? Howell pushed aside the quilts and blankets, slid into slippers and ran down the stairs. “Sophie?” He jumped the last few stairs and swung into her area beneath the stairs, “Sophie?” He shouted in the yard, her workroom and even ran up to the store, but all were empty. As he slumped back through the broom closet, he heard sharp laughter from the hearth.

“Very smooth, very dignified,” Calcifer taunted.

Howell hung his head, dragging himself and a kitchen chair up to the fire. “I was wrong,” he moaned, flinging his body into the chair.

“Can I get a recording of that? Seriously?” the demon asked, pulling a log over. The two sat in silence for several minutes before Calcifer cleared his proverbial throat. “Ahem, Howl?” There was no answer and the demon began to bounce somewhat in the fire and lean over to look at the floor around the wizard. “Earth to Howl?” He took the sideways glance from the man in the chair as a positive answer. “Hookay, you do know she's outside, don't you?”

Howell jumped to his feet. “Cal! You could've told me!”

“Sit down, Howl. She'll be back in a few minutes. Did you think she'd left? She's out getting flowers or something. Idiot.”

Howell nodded, walking over to the door. But, after checking that it was purple down, he walked back to sit by his old friend, relieved, but still jumpy.

“You got it bad, pal! Look at yourself, you haven't even shaved!” The demon stretched his face up in an imitation of Howell's. His green hair and pointy teeth spoiled the effect. “I never would've let you keep that soft heart if I'd known it would do this to you,” he said. Both of them knew the lie in that. After meeting the Witch of the Waste, they'd seen their future together and it was bleak. Without needing to explain the change of topics, Calcifer continued, “You know that trick they used? The shell thing?”

Howell nodded, his attention settling fully on the demon. The woman, Miss Angorian, had replaced his nephew's English teacher in Wales and entered the moving castle successfully several times, but she was the Witch of the Waste's fire demon in disguise. Howell had known about the scam, but tried to use their tactic to his own advantage and almost lost his life to it.

“Well, I've been wondering if you'd build one of those things for me.” Calcifer watched, his flames billowing in an unseen draft from the Market Chipping chimney. If he had real hands, all of the fingers would be crossed. The Witch had been fully controlled by her fire demon by the end. Even together the two of them were weaker than either Calcifer or Howell. More tricks, to be sure, and fewer morals, but they were weaker and in the end it killed them.

Howell said nothing, his mind racing. Right now when Cal wanted to wander, he did so as a small ball of fire. That limited his interactions, sometimes a good thing, but Howell wanted the demon to remain linked to humanity in a positive way. Demons were dangerous creatures because they had power, but no sense of responsibility, no attachment to people, no sense of right and wrong. “We'll see,” he said. More importantly, however... “Was she in good spirits this morning? Did she say anything? About last night?”

Calcifer had the upper hand and didn't intend to make it easy. He scratched his green curls before speaking. “It's hard to tell with her, but she did move some things from her bed to the workroom and she hasn't harassed me hardly at all.”

“Was she angry?” Howell looked so worried that the demon took pity.

“You really thought she left you? What did you do to her? I thought you monkeys did pretty well with that romance stuff.”

“If she ever really leaves me, I think I'll die.” For a man given to overly dramatic statements, that one was delivered straight, with the strength of truth.

“Did you tell her that? Last night?”

Howell could've pointed out that the demon's interference had soured the night, but it was time he took responsibility for it himself. He stood up and shook his head, moving the chair back to the table and looking in the pantry. “Has she eaten?”

“No, I said she didn't make me cook,” he eyed Howell's movements warily. “Can't you guys get by with bread?”

Howell spun, his characteristic grin back in place. “When we can have toast? Don't be silly, Cal.” They would need to enlarge the hearth for both types of fires now that Calcifer had his freedom, but not yet. “Bend your head down.” The demon grumbled but did as bidden and soon the room filled with the smells of bacon, eggs and toast.

As he was finishing, the door opened and Sophie came in, the volume of flowers in her arms obscuring her face. A small blue butterfly drifted up, then back down to the mix of colors. She deposited everything in the sink and watched Howell warily. “What do you think you're doing?”

Howell smiled at her. “A very complicated love spell, I'd think that was obvious. Set the table, please,” Howell directed her as he brought the pan to the table.

She looked him up and down, scowling. “You'd better not be,” she said, moving quickly to get the plates and silverware in place. “Is it just the two of us?”

Howell nodded, not that he was hungry but the chance to sit and talk with her was too tempting to pass up. He served the food, putting the pan near the fire since the sink was full. Flowers would have to be sorted first and he hoped he could slither out before the washing up. Cleaning was quite beyond him. Michael had once asked why Howell didn't clean with magic and he'd replied with a lengthy and convoluted lecture on the nature and use of magic. Michael didn't ask again but since Sophie had come they'd both gotten used to the brightness, the sweeter smell of the castle. “Michael should be home soon,” Howell said conversationally. He set down his fork to enjoy the look on her face. I could get used to seeing that smile over breakfast, he thought.

Sophie blushed under his gaze and tried to turn her attention back to her food. “This is quite lovely. Thank you for cooking.” At the sizzling sound from the fire she added, “and thanks to you, Calcifer.”

“Anything for you, Sophie,” the demon said, pointedly.

They ate in a companionable silence for a few minutes. Howell was amused to catch Sophie looking at him. He hadn't primped at all that morning and knew he didn't look his best, but she was funny that way. His eye wandered the room. The wizard's workbench looked empty without the old skull holding papers down, but he was happy it had a good home again. He shuddered at what could have been his future. Impulsively he reached a hand across the table, fingers brushing the back of Sophie's hand. “Thank you for staying.”

She looked at his hand moving over hers. “I...” For a moment, Howell missed the “old” Sophie. She would've come out with whatever unpleasant thought was on her mind, along with one of her ever amusing 'young man' comment. Was she reverting back to his little gray mouse? Sophie raised her eyes to his, “Thank you for letting me stay, Howl.”

He smiled, enjoying the moment too much to move. She let him hold her hand, but seemed to be marshaling her courage for something. Howell didn't think he could bear another confrontation about his loose morals, so he jumped in to head her off. “The flowers, are you opening the store today?” Then kicked himself. Calcifer was right, he should be courting her, romancing her, not acting like her employer.

“Of course.” She blinked and took her hand away from his. “We should talk about this new arrangement, my apprenticeship.”

Howell was stunned for a second, then rose to give Calcifer the rest of his meal. “Ah, yes.” That had been the tipping point in the argument with her stepmother, Fanny. Staying with him would give her the chance to study magic and train her skills. Sophie's magical talents weren't Howell's specialty, but he respected them. She could touch the living soul inside almost anything: plants, sticks, his heart. With some training, she could do wonderful things. When she'd first arrived he sensed her power, but confused it with the curse she was hiding behind. Howell didn't know what he could teach her, but he'd give it a try. The fire demon was sulking slightly, but ate the eggs and bacon nonetheless. “Hot water, please Calcifer.” Amongst the hungry noises, the demon nodded.

“You haven't bathed yet?” Sophie seemed honestly shocked. “Oh.”

Howell scowled slightly and sniffed his sleeve. “Perhaps I'll do laundry as well, and no Mrs. Snips, I will not let you near my clothes.” He stopped at the door of the bathroom and turned as she called his name.

“Howl?” Sophie stood, looked at Calcifer who gave her a little hand motion, then back to Howell.

He quirked an eyebrow and spread his hands. “Shoot.”

“Well, when Michael comes back, my family will likely come with him.” She bit her lip. “I think Lettie and Mrs. Fairfax will be heading back to Upper Folding... This would be a good chance for you to apologize.” Sophie rushed through the last few words and looked hurt as Howell began to laugh.

“Whatever for?” Howell loved the surprises Sophie added to his life. He wiped a tiny tear from one eye and tried to stop laughing, but when he thought of those women running him off with the dog or talking so much he wished the dog would intervene, he'd start to laugh again. Sophie seemed to grow more and more angry.

“Howl,” she sputtered, “You can't! Oh stop laughing, I'm serious! You can't have forgotten!” He did quiet down, if for no reason than to prepare a shield in case she threw something at him. She said, “My little sister. We talked about this last night.”

He lifted his hands in a show of innocence. “Nothing happened, Sophie.” Was she jealous?

Sophie hit her hand on the table. “That's not the point! It's what you intended that counts!”

Howell really wanted to slide into the bathroom and lock her out, but he managed to hold his ground. “But, Sophie, I courted her to find out about you.” Technically true, if you counted the last few weeks. “I'd better get cleaned up.” He put his hand on the door behind him.

“Don't slither out of this, Howl! I want you to apologize to her and while you're at it, you could apologize to all the girls you tricked.”

Howell's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. Even Calcifer looked at Sophie in a new light. “Whoa, that's a lot of apologies,” the fire demon said.

Sophie's chin was thrust out and there was a gleam in her eye that Howell was unwilling to tangle with. “If you'll excuse me,” he said, but Calcifer and Sophie missed most of his polite exit due to the speed he was moving and the sound of the door slamming behind him.

Howell heard Calcifer's voice through the pipes, “That went well.” He nodded his head and tried to stop shaking.

By the time Howell felt well enough to rejoin his household, he'd come to two very important realizations. One was that Sophie was right and two was that he did not want to admit that to her. He transported himself directly to his bedroom to change, pulled out and blackened his gray and scarlet suit, then stood quietly on the landing and listened to the excited voices in the kitchen. He fancied he looked a bit like Hamlet in mourning.

Hamlet, wasn't he a blond? A Dane? Yes, he thought so, and forced himself to descend into the belly of the beast. And mad, perhaps that would work? No, he argued as a means of distracting his thoughts from the embarrassing topic of apologies, Hamlet's madness led to tragedy.

For once, he was pleased that his dramatic entrance was not noticed. He took in the scene unfolding in his living room. Mad Hatters were everywhere; Martha entranced Michael who was slicing pieces of a decadent Cesari's cake; Lettie was deep in discussion with Mrs. Fairfax and Sophie seemed to be listening to her stepmother, Fanny. The other wizard and fellow Welshman, Ben Suliman was not present. Howell hoped the man had come to his senses and fled the Hatters. Calcifer was ignoring the proceedings except for occasional green sparks to remind everyone that he existed. Howell might also have been ignored had it not been for the insistent knocking that began at the very moment he stepped on the landing.

“Mansion door,” Calcifer announced over the din.

Michael leaped up before Sophie who was closer and he opened the door onto a very fancy entourage from Kingsbury. Howell recognized the lead personage as the Duke of Festingsburg, a notable only due to marriage and a cheat at kneeds, a card game played at court. The Duke addressed Michael, although he tried to get a look inside as he did so. Michael quite rightly blocked his way. “Is the the the Master of the house, the Royal Wizard, Pendragon at home? I bear a message from the King.” He clearly felt this would be impressive. Had there been anyone but the Hatters there, it might have impressed someone. As this depressing thought settled in, Howell pressed his way through the various sisters and mothers and made his way out to stand behind his apprentice.

“I'm sorry, the Master is indisposed--” Michael began before Howell put his hand on the dark haired teenager's shoulder and interrupted.

“It's no trouble, Michael.” Indeed, he would've invited the Duke inside to balance the estrogen level had the man not been such a bore.

“I hope we find you in good health, good Master Pendragon. His Royal Majesty wishes to send his warm regards to you and to all under your protection.”

Howell realized that this would be one of the long ceremonial greetings he'd endured while Ben was missing. He could see the roll of parchment under the Duke's arm and was waiting for a moment's pause so he could snatch it and slam the door, but the man was speaking again after the slightest nod from Howell who was really just trying to open his mouth and answer.

“As to the recent events happily concluded...” As the man droned on, Howell's mind began to seek a way out of this situation. “...And within the borders of Ingary as well as their implications outside our glorious nation...” Fight fire with fire, Howell concluded and whispered to Michael who smiled and nodded. “...Indeed our Royal Majesty, the King of Ingary would like to...” Michael moved back into the castle living area while Howell nodded and smiled to the Duke. “...and extends his most sincere and heartfelt of salutations.”

As Mrs. Fairfax made her somewhat confused way to Howell's side, he turned a charming look on both of his guests. “Duke of Festingsburg, may I present the good Witch, Mrs. Anne Fairfax of Upper Folding. Mrs. Fairfax, this is Lord Walter Wimblebourne, the Duke of Festingsburg.” Howell made a grab for the parchment and quickly dashed up the stairs and slid to the hearth, passing a confused Sophie in the process.

Even without real lips, Calcifer managed a whistle. “Nice distraction,” the fire demon said. Howell managed a half bow as he tore open the royal seal. He could hear the blur of competing voices from the doorway and was briefly alarmed at what sounded like an invitation to come in, but even the Duke could figure out that he was outmatched in the talking department and beat a hasty retreat. As the door closed, all eyes fixed on Howell.

“What is it?” Sophie asked, trying to look over the papers as Howell held them to the fire for light to read by.

“None of your business, Mrs. Long Nose,” he joked. On hearing a gasp from his prospective mother in law, he reconsidered the humor, but a look at Sophie showed that she ignored it. Howell was hoping the papers would reveal an order from the King as he could use the cash. He wasn't sure where his money had gone, but he had to start thinking of the future of his family now and work meant money. No such luck. His presence was requested, blah, blah, blah on the morrow, blah, blah, ceremony, blah, blah, Prince Justin and the nation rejoices; Howell skimmed the document then passed it to Sophie. “Nothing important.”

“Howl, this is a royal summons,” she rightly pointed out.

“Ah, but look at the fine print, Sophie,” he countered. “'If the Royal Wizard is otherwise occupied by the duties of his office, he shall be excused from the proceedings.'”

“Are you otherwise occupied, Mr. Howl?” Lettie spoke up and Howell couldn't help but feel a slight blush as he heard her harsh tone. It was the tone she most often used with him when he went courting which reminded him...

“Well, not at present, but one can never tell about magic.” He didn't meet her eyes.

“Quite right.” Mrs. Fairfax took a deep breath indicating much more would soon follow, but Martha lifted the cake box and announced that she would be serving anyone who wanted cake with their tea. Howell hadn't even noticed Calcifer bowing to heat the water until she spoke, but Sophie was seeing to everything. Did they even have enough cups, Howell wondered, but couldn't work up the effort to care. He tried to catch her eye, and Sophie glared at him when he finally managed. Was she really so angry about the King's invitation?

As they ate, Sophie slipped out to tend the store and Howell tried at one point to get near Lettie, but stopped as soon as he received her stepmother's angry look. Really! These women were quite impossible, he thought. Mrs. Fairfax still smiled sweetly and Michael was a kind face, but even little Martha seemed put out about something. Howell stood apart as dishes were collected and goodbyes and fond hugs were passed around. Sophie and Michael walked the ladies out and Howell overheard Mrs. Fairfax saying that she and Lettie would be leaving by hired buggy at a rendezvous stand between the mansion and the Smith's residence. His odds were better if he caught her alone, or nearly so considering Mrs. Fairfax's intellect, Howell smiled at the thought. Sophie need never know.

Calcifer congratulated Sophie on a less disastrous family gathering than yesterday and she smiled at him. Pointedly ignoring Howell, she turned to the sink and began noisily splashing water and soap onto dishes and glassware. Michael turned a curious eye toward Howell just in time to see him disappear.

The trick to teleportation is to use it sparingly and only across short distances. It could quite turn one's stomach. Or maybe it was the cake, Howell mused as he leaned on the hitching post at the buggy stop. He soon saw dust billowing along the road as the small coach arrived, the driver nodded his thanks as Howell tied the horses loosely. Once he realized Howell wasn't a passenger, the old man turned to his watch and logbook. Soon two figures could be seen trundling along the path to the west. The sun was hanging low in the sky, just enough to flare into his eyes as he watched them. Each carried a small patchwork satchel and was followed by a larger suitcase enchanted to float along behind. They were deep in conversation, or so it would appear. Chances were that only one of them was conversing. He stepped out to greet them. Lettie's face reddened in that beautiful way that showed both great ire and great facial structure.

“Hello again, Wizard Howl,” Mrs. Fairfax began, but Howell quickly interjected.

“Hello to you both. Miss Hatter, I must speak to you.” He reached for her hand, but she stopped walking and pulled back from him, shock registering on her face.

“The bare cheekiness of you, Howl Jenkins!” Her luggage bumped up against her, nearly knocking her into him as Mrs. Fairfax smiled knowingly and walked calmly toward the buggy. She whistled and Lettie's luggage drifted to her as well. The driver hurried down to assist her. Howell turned back to face Lettie's wrath. “I knew you would come slinking along. How dare you! I'm still not interested. My sister deserves--”

Heaven save me from this family, he thought as he began the speech he'd prepared all day. “My dear Miss Hatter, I apologize for the dishonest attention I paid to you. You were right to spurn my advances; my intentions were impure from the outset. They changed once I fell in love with your sister, but that is no excuse for my use--”

“Stop!” Lettie looked at Howell with genuine amazement on her face. “Go back, what did you say?”

“I'm sorry, Lettie.” He looked in her eyes, so like Sophie's only without the humor and love in them. “I'm saying that I'm sorry.” Howell didn't try any ruse to cover how hard this was for him. Perhaps this was what he had to get used to now? Did Sophie honestly intend for him to confront every single ex-lover? Do whores and hookers count? He never forgot a “true love,” but as for the rest? Perhaps Calcifer could help, surely his memories were still in the demon's mind?

“No, after that... did you just say you love her?”

“Of course!” It was Howell's turn to look shocked. “Dear God, weren't you there yesterday?! Of course I love her. I've loved her almost since the day she came to me.”

A smile played on Lettie's face, a natural and guileless look that Howell had only seen her use with the damned dog-man. It was a nice look for her and some part of him hurt that it was directed at him only when he declared for another. “Oh, there is some speck of good in you,” she said as she pulled him in for a hug. Howell was bewildered, but Mrs. Fairfax called to Lettie and she released him to run for the stairs. “Goodbye, Wizard Howl!” She waved and pushed her way into the small coach door just in time for the driver to click his tongue at the two horses. Howell stood staring at clouds of dirt, stunned.