Not that the Abhorsens did much keeping the Dead down in the present era, as far as Clariel knew. She’d never heard of the Dead causing any trouble in her lifetime. Nor for that matter did the Clayr, the fourth of the Great Charter bloodlines, seem to see very much into the future. If they did, they kept it to themselves, just as they kept themselves remote in their glacier-sheltered fortress far to the north. Even the King, head of those ‘who wear the crown’ didn’t do much ruling any more, though Clariel had never really been interested in who ultimately was in charge of the various institutions that effectively managed the Kingdom.

Abhorsens, Clayr, the King: they all seemed to be relics of a bygone past, just as the ‘stone and mortar’ of the rhyme meant very little in the present day. This referred to the Wall in the south, to Clariel merely a curious landmark she’d heard about but never seen; and to the Great Charter Stones she knew only as they were depicted in a mummers’ play: big grey man-size puppets painted with gold representations of Charter marks. In Estwael they had become part of a comic turn in the Midsummer Festival, tall rocks that crashed into each other, fell over, got up again, and then repeated the whole process numerous times to gales of laughter.

‘Of course you knew about your mother’s sister,’ said Harven, as if they talked about Jaciel’s family all the time, instead of never. ‘Anyway, we may be seeing her or your grandfather, and then there’s the King, who is your mother’s second cousin after all, and they all are … well … you know, very big on Charter Magic.’

‘I thought you said the “best people” don’t do Charter Magic any more because it’s too much like hard work or they’ll get their fingers scorched black or something. Are the King and the Abhorsens not the best people?’

‘Don’t be silly,’ said Harven. ‘They’re more … more kind of separate, particularly these days. Out of the way. Modern times, you know, and different ways and means, things change …’

‘What are you talking about, Father?’ asked Clariel.

‘You are to have lessons in Charter Magic,’ rallied Harven, getting back to the subject at hand. ‘We have arranged for you to take afternoon lessons with a Magister Kargrin, whose house is on the hill below us. Possibly you can see it from here, I believe it is quite distinctive …’

Clariel looked over the railing. There were hundreds of houses on the western slope of Beshill, and many more beyond, all crowded together.

‘Where?’ she asked.

‘Somewhere downhill,’ replied Harven, waving vaguely. ‘The house with the sign of the hedgepig on the street of the Cormorant … anyway, your guard will lead you there –’

‘My guard?’

‘I thought I told you about the guards already?’

‘No you did not,’ replied Clariel sternly. ‘What guards?’