Crowned. Cheryl S. Ntumy
moment. “I have tried to find out what is causing it, but there is nothing. Gifted in all ten places are investigating. All we can sense is a build-up of energy, but no gifted signature. If it is a ritual of some sort it is very well protected.”
“By a powerful, egomaniacal sorcerer?”
He looks at me sharply. “We must not assume.”
I sigh, frustrated but not surprised. Ntatemogolo always prefers to err on the side of caution.
“We should get back to work,” he murmurs.
My gaze drops to the book on the mat. I haven’t tried to open it since that first time. “Maybe I’ll have a breakthrough,” I remark, cracking my knuckles in preparation.
“I doubt it,” he says cheerfully. “But there’s no harm in trying. Are you ready?”
I take a deep, steadying breath. I focus all my attention on the book, letting my gift dance around it for a minute before trying to break through it. Like a human mind the book is surrounded by a barrier, only this barrier is artificial.
When I read the Puppetmaster’s magic box I could see the words of the spell that protected it. All I had to do was unravel them, like pulling stitches from a piece of fabric. This is different. Ntatemogolo has put up a barrier to conceal the words in the book, and then a barrier to conceal the concealment. So far all I’ve done is walk my gift round the barrier, searching for a weak point that doesn’t seem to exist.
“Take your time,” he tells me. “Focus.”
Focus. There must be a crack. There’s always a crack. I just have to keep looking.
Or you could break it open.
What? Where did that thought come from? Break it open, indeed. Who am I, the Incredible Hulk? Despite my scepticism, the thought persists. I try to brush it aside. My gift is growing, but it’s not that strong. I can’t break barriers – I need a crack. I focus my gift, drawing all the filaments together into one point, centred on a spot in the barrier.
No. Target the entire barrier.
The voice echoes inside me. It’s the strangest sensation. It sounds like me, but calmer, steadier. I listen, waiting to hear it again, but all is quiet in my head. This must be related to my growing gift. I take a deep breath. I’ve never thought of targeting a barrier all at once. The logical thing to do is find a weak point. Then again, logic hasn’t got me anywhere so far. I shift tack, letting my gift spread across the barrier until the entire glowing ring is encircled by my energy. I breathe in and out, in and out…and then strike, squeezing hard.
I keep up the pressure, though I see no sign of the barrier weakening. Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze… The barrier shatters in my mind’s eye, revealing the concealment. I sneak inside where I can see the stitches holding it together. I pick them apart one by one. I lift up the book and open it. Words appear on the pages, faint at first, then bold and clear in black ink. I laugh, thrilled by my success.
I flip the book over so the open pages face my grandfather. “Ta da!”
His jaw drops. He stares at me, speechless, and licks his lips. “How?”
“Thinking outside the box,” I reply with a smug grin. “See, all this time I was looking for a crack. That’s my usual technique – look for the crack and force my way through it. This time I spread my energy across the whole barrier instead of one point, and it was much more effective. Like a bomb rather than a bullet.”
“Graphic, but fitting,” he says wryly. He’s quiet for a while, then says, “Let’s try another one.”
I feel almost invincible. I thought only Rakwena’s energy could make me feel that way. It’s good to know that I can be awesome all by myself.
* * *
I leave Ntatemogolo’s house giddy with triumph. I passed every test he set me. I’m eager to tell my friends, but my SMS won’t go through. I have to wait till I get home to call them and arrange a Skype chat for tonight. I’m surprised to find Dad home when I get in; he usually stays in the office till late, working on the Salinger project.
“Your friend came by to deliver a gift,” he says as I head for the fridge.
“Which friend?” I reach for a bottle of water and pour myself a tall glass, then walk back to the living room.
Dad’s sitting at the computer table in the corner, tapping away. “Emily. I didn’t want to ask if she was that Emily, but she did have a sort of strange, jaded look about her.”
“She’s that Emily.” Why would she be here in broad daylight? Why would she come to the door and talk to my father like a normal person rather than sneak around at night like the creepy foot soldier she is?
“God, should I have kept her here? Called the police? Isn’t she presumed dead?”
I gulp down my water. “No, no, and yes. The police wouldn’t believe you, Dad.”
“But…her parents…”
“I know. It’s one of those situations you have to let go.”
He scowls. “You seem to have a lot of those in your world.”
I can see where this road is leading, so I take a quick detour. “What did she bring? Is it an envelope?”
Dad shakes his head and points to the dining table. I turn, and wonder how I missed it. A rust-orange gift box with a yellow ribbon sits in the middle of the table, looking cheerful and innocuous. A present from the Puppetmaster? Why?
I walk over to pick it up. “Did she leave a message?”
“She just said to give it to you. It’s not ticking, but I’m not sure that means much.”
I lift the lid. Inside is an exquisite wooden jewellery box with small flowers carved into it in painstaking detail. I gasp in wonder.
Dad leaps to his feet. “What? Should I get the fire extinguisher? Salt? Garlic?”
I laugh. “It’s just a jewellery box. No danger.”
He comes forward to take a closer look. I hand him the box, then turn back to the packaging, searching for a note. There isn’t one. What does this mean? I haven’t done anything for the Puppetmaster. At least I hope not.
“This is a puzzle box,” says Dad, turning it over before handing it back to me.
“A what?” I study it, fascinated.
“You know, a box with a secret mechanism. My gran used to collect them. You have to figure out how it works before you can open it.”
I smile, understanding. It’s a test, like Ntatemogolo’s book. The Puppetmaster has made it clear how important my progress is to him – maybe he’s hoping to speed it up by giving me another magical code to crack.
Dad looks uncomfortable. “Why would the Puppetmaster send you this? Are you sure there isn’t something dangerous inside?”
I shake my head. My gift – or the anklet – would have alerted me if the box was dangerous. “This is his way of testing me. He likes doing stuff like that. I’m going to change and then start working on it.”
“What about dinner?”
“I’m not hungry,” I say, already halfway to my room.
“I was talking about me,” he calls after me.
“Oh – I’ll whip something up in a minute.”
I close my bedroom door and gaze at the box. I’m excited. After the success I had at Ntatemogolo’s, I think I’m up to the Puppetmaster’s challenge. Then I remember the Skype chat. Eish. I’ll have to start on the puzzle box afterwards.
I change quickly, dash to the bathroom to wash my face,