Jenna was sitting, leaning against the mooring post, watching the breaking reflections of the moon in the mirror-black river and wondering why she felt so upset about Marissa asking Beetle to walk home with her. Jenna remembered that when Marissa had said that she was renting a room above Bott’s Cloaks, she had been pleased for her—until later when she had realized that Bott’s Cloaks was opposite the Manuscriptorium. And then, unaccountably, she had felt distinctly not pleased. She had even caught herself thinking how nice it would be to have the freedom to rent a room opposite the Manuscriptorium, rather than having to live so far away, in the Palace. This had thrown her into confusion. She loved the Palace—how could she possibly compare it with a tiny room above smelly old Bott’s preloved cloaks? Why would she want to live there?

While Jenna was pondering the merits of the Palace versus Bott’s Cloaks, the jetty gave a sudden lurch. She turned around and a flash of fear went through her. She saw the large bulk of Morwenna Mould creeping forward, carefully placing her feet into the snow in a rather peculiar way. Jenna knew at once she had to get away— there was no doubt in her mind that being crept up on by a witch when it is way past midnight and you are alone, perched over an icy river, was not good.

Very slowly, so as not to disturb Morwenna—who seemed to be in some kind of trance—Jenna got to her feet. If she had been anywhere else, she would have run for it, but unfortunately the only escape involved actually going toward Morwenna, who pretty much took up the width of the landing stage. Jenna hesitated. She was sure that Morwenna hadn’t seen her—the Witch Mother was staring intently at the old planks as though she had lost something. But she was moving ever closer in an oddly deliberate way that frightened Jenna. Jenna decided that her best chance was to take Morwenna by surprise. She would wrap her Witch cloak around her like a shield and run straight at her. With any luck she could push past Morwenna before the Witch Mother had time to do anything.

Jenna took a deep breath and ran. As she got to within arm’s length, Morwenna looked up. “Princess!” she gasped.

Jenna stopped. She eyed up the available space on either side of the witch—there were maybe six inches of landing stage, certainly no more. And below was the icy river.

Morwenna took a step forward and Jenna took a step back. “Morwenna,” she said, playing for time. “How . . . nice to see you.”

Morwenna did not reply. She was trying to remember the Rules of FootFollowing. Could she grab her prey now or did she have to Follow all the footsteps? Would she have to go to the end of the jetty first and then come back? She wished she could remember.

“Yes,” said Morwenna, distracted, “very nice.” And then, “Bother,” as her feet began to take her past Jenna. She was going to have to Follow every single step. What a stupid spell, she thought. “Excuse me a moment, Princess Jenna. Um, don’t go away.”

Politely, Jenna stepped aside to let Morwenna by and smelled the earthy scent of leaf mold and decomposing fungus as the witch squeezed past her. Jenna was confused. She had been convinced that Morwenna was stalking her and yet clearly that was not the case. Lulled into a false sense of security, Jenna headed for the path back to the Palace.

Behind her Morwenna had put on a surprising turn of speed. The witch raced to the end of the landing stage, wheeled around and headed right back. The next thing Jenna knew was the smell of leaf mold behind her as Morwenna placed her dainty witch foot into Jenna’s last footstep. As Jenna wheeled around in surprise, the heavy hands of the Witch Mother descended on her shoulders and her talonlike grip dug into the top of her arms.

“Got you!” Morwenna crowed triumphantly. “At last.”

21

WHAT IS TO BE

“Get off me!” yelled Jenna, twisting and turning, trying to get free.

“You can’t get away; I have put a Grasp on you,” hissed Morwenna.

Jenna could not believe it—she had been so stupid. She should have run away while she could. Morwenna propelled her back along the jetty and Jenna was convinced that the witch intended to drown her. They reached the mooring post and Morwenna—keeping her Grasp on Jenna—leaned down and pulled a small coracle out from underneath.

“Get in!” she puffed.

There was no way Jenna intended to get into something that looked like a large teacup floating on the river—especially with a witch. “No!” she said and gave Morwenna a shove backward. But the witch’s Grasp held firm and Jenna found herself teetering on the very edge of the rickety planks. She grabbed hold of the mooring post with both hands. If Morwenna wanted to take her, she would have to take the post too.