(no subject)
She has to rescue Miss Angorian. It's all her fault; Howl will never, ever forgive her if she doesn't.
Sophie runs for the seven-league boots, grabbing her stick as she goes. She settles them in front of the shop, pushing aside various confused passers-by, and starts zipping, three-and-a-half leagues at a time, into the Waste.
It's horrible and hot and gritty, and by the time Sophie reaches the collecting of chimney pots that makes up the Witch's castle, she's far too exhausted to even consider carrying the boots with her all that way. She trudges on with just her stick. The Witch's page boys show up to give her sulky looks, pointing her through the entranceway.
It vanishes, of course, as soon as she's through. Sophie just shrugs. She'll deal with that on the other side.
Everything next seems to happen very quickly. The Witch is there, looking tall and skinny and very, very tired, with one long pigtail over one bony shoulder. She backs away when Sophie walks up to her and demands Miss Angorian - but then the page boys rise up, melting into sticky orange blobs, and somehow manage to glue Sophie to a chimney-pot pillar. It's worse than green slime, Sophie finds herself thinking; and meanwhile the Witch seems to lose interest entirely. She can't think of anything else to do except keep demanding Miss Angorian.
"We will wait until Howl comes," says the Witch, wearily.
"He's not coming!" Sophie says, hoping very hard that it's true. "He's got more sense. And your curse hasn't all worked anyways."
"It will," says the Witch, with a slight smile. "Now that you have fallen for our deception and come here, Howl will have to be honest for once."
Deception? thinks Sophie, but then she's distracted, because the Witch makes another gesture, and a throne trundles forward with a headless man on it.
Well. There's Prince Justin.
"If I were Fanny," Sophie says, indignantly, "I'd threaten to faint. Put his head back on at once! He looks terrible like that!"
But the Witch doesn't listen; simply rambles on and on about the perfect being, and leftover parts, and how with Howl's head on Prince Justin-Wizard Suliman's conglomerate body he will rule as King and she will rule as Queen. "I have worked very hard for this moment," she announces, "and I am not to be argued with," and then she wanders off.
One thing seems clear, and that is that the Witch is entirely insane.
But Sophie still has her stick, and the orange goo that's holding her to the pillar doesn't seem to like it. She's managed to work her head and shoulders loose from the stringy orange binding when she's distracted from her escape attempts by a sudden dull boom. Everything shakes. Sophie cranes her head around to see; if the castle's going to fall down while she's still inside it, she'd at least like to be aware.
The castle doesn't fall down. But a piece of wall does blow out, with a sound like a thousand crashing tea sets, and light pours through the opening. It hurts Sophie's eyes, but she turns towards it anyways - it must be Howl, mustn't it?
But instead it seems to be, of all things, the scarecrow. The Witch throws herself at it, and they begin to engage in a furious pitched battle.
If Sophie's shoulders were mobile enough, she would shrug in perplexity. As it is, she simply takes advantage of the new distraction to work steadily away at her bonds.
Sophie runs for the seven-league boots, grabbing her stick as she goes. She settles them in front of the shop, pushing aside various confused passers-by, and starts zipping, three-and-a-half leagues at a time, into the Waste.
It's horrible and hot and gritty, and by the time Sophie reaches the collecting of chimney pots that makes up the Witch's castle, she's far too exhausted to even consider carrying the boots with her all that way. She trudges on with just her stick. The Witch's page boys show up to give her sulky looks, pointing her through the entranceway.
It vanishes, of course, as soon as she's through. Sophie just shrugs. She'll deal with that on the other side.
Everything next seems to happen very quickly. The Witch is there, looking tall and skinny and very, very tired, with one long pigtail over one bony shoulder. She backs away when Sophie walks up to her and demands Miss Angorian - but then the page boys rise up, melting into sticky orange blobs, and somehow manage to glue Sophie to a chimney-pot pillar. It's worse than green slime, Sophie finds herself thinking; and meanwhile the Witch seems to lose interest entirely. She can't think of anything else to do except keep demanding Miss Angorian.
"We will wait until Howl comes," says the Witch, wearily.
"He's not coming!" Sophie says, hoping very hard that it's true. "He's got more sense. And your curse hasn't all worked anyways."
"It will," says the Witch, with a slight smile. "Now that you have fallen for our deception and come here, Howl will have to be honest for once."
Deception? thinks Sophie, but then she's distracted, because the Witch makes another gesture, and a throne trundles forward with a headless man on it.
Well. There's Prince Justin.
"If I were Fanny," Sophie says, indignantly, "I'd threaten to faint. Put his head back on at once! He looks terrible like that!"
But the Witch doesn't listen; simply rambles on and on about the perfect being, and leftover parts, and how with Howl's head on Prince Justin-Wizard Suliman's conglomerate body he will rule as King and she will rule as Queen. "I have worked very hard for this moment," she announces, "and I am not to be argued with," and then she wanders off.
One thing seems clear, and that is that the Witch is entirely insane.
But Sophie still has her stick, and the orange goo that's holding her to the pillar doesn't seem to like it. She's managed to work her head and shoulders loose from the stringy orange binding when she's distracted from her escape attempts by a sudden dull boom. Everything shakes. Sophie cranes her head around to see; if the castle's going to fall down while she's still inside it, she'd at least like to be aware.
The castle doesn't fall down. But a piece of wall does blow out, with a sound like a thousand crashing tea sets, and light pours through the opening. It hurts Sophie's eyes, but she turns towards it anyways - it must be Howl, mustn't it?
But instead it seems to be, of all things, the scarecrow. The Witch throws herself at it, and they begin to engage in a furious pitched battle.
If Sophie's shoulders were mobile enough, she would shrug in perplexity. As it is, she simply takes advantage of the new distraction to work steadily away at her bonds.