“As my charming brother already knows, because I told him so,” Torville said, “I was casting a spell, and it went badly wrong. I must have lost track of my intention.”

“An elementary mistake!” said Vivien. “So foolish a child could have made it! You were right, Elgin. This is wonderful.”

“Yes,” said Torville dryly, “I thought you’d like that, Viv. One moment I was stirring my cauldron, cooking up a lovely curse; the next moment, I was on the floor in my current condition. Pettifog and the other servants knew nothing about it. It was my own fault entirely.”

Marigold was astonished. Every word he had said was a lie. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought the evil Wizard Torville was trying to protect her. And the other wizards seemed to believe him. Old Skellytoes was trying not to cackle, Horace wanted to know if the fortress was available to rent now that Torville was a blob of glop, and Petronella talked over everyone else, telling the story of a time when she accidentally turned herself into a sneeze. Millicent knelt down to examine the blob more carefully, and the Twice-Times Witch, whose imps had carried her up the stairs, gave Torville a scolding look and told the imps to take her back down again. The Miseries, for their part, were so delighted by their brother’s misfortune that they seemed to have forgotten all about Marigold. She looked down at Pettifog, who shrugged and dropped her hand as if it were a glowing ember from the demonic realms.

“I’m not sure I understand,” Gentleman Northwinds said from the doorway. The candles guttered as he spoke, and a draft of cold air made Marigold’s skin prickle. “You’ve turned yourself into a . . . er, well, a . . .”

“Blob of glop?” said Torville.

“Yes,” said Gentleman Northwinds, “that. But you’re not a blob of glop in the mirror. How did you manage it?”

Torville tried to smile. “Isn’t that strange? I’ve wondered about it myself! But who can understand the quirks of enchantments? I don’t have the faintest idea why I’m myself over here, and a blob of glop out there.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Gentleman Northwinds murmured for the second time that evening. He crossed the room and crouched down by Torville, examining him just as he’d studied the window ledges all through the fortress. “This magic is extraordinarily tangled. I think there may even be more than one spell wrapped around you.” He got to his feet again. “Are you certain, Torville, that you were the one casting it?”

“Of course I’m certain!” Torville snapped. For a moment, Marigold could have sworn his reflection was looking straight at her, but his gaze flicked away before she could meet it.

“One spell or twenty, I don’t care how many he’s under.” Vivien snatched up the dinner plate. In the mirror, Torville kicked his legs as he was lifted off the floor. “He’s not going to unglop himself anytime soon, and we have work to do. Since you couldn’t keep a firm grip on the princess you captured, Torville, we’re going to stop her ourselves.”

Torville sighed. “Would you put me down, Vivien?”

“No,” Vivien said. “You’re worse than useless, and you look even more revolting than usual. I want you out of my sight.” She passed the dinner plate to Elgin. “Hide him away somewhere, would you?”

Elgin gave a mocking little bow. “With pleasure,” he said. Some of the wizards giggled.

“And the rest of you!” said Vivien. “Stop your snickering. Did you forget we’ve got big magic to perform? Go home to your hovels and gather your supplies — spell books, poisons, divining rods, and scrying pools, whatever you’ve got! Come back here by dawn tomorrow. Elgin and I will prepare the fortress.” She looked around the room approvingly. “We’ll have enough space here for all of us to work at once, and I’m sure Torville won’t mind sharing.”

The fortress belonged to the Miseries now. They swept aside Torville’s tools in the workroom, raided his spell-casting supplies, and helped themselves to his pillows and blankets. “Scrub the workroom floor, imp,” said Elgin, heaving a mop at Pettifog. “I don’t want my brother’s magical detritus interfering with my spells.”

Pettifog let the mop clatter to the floor. “I am not your servant,” he said. He drew himself up to his full height just shy of Marigold’s kneecaps. “I work for Torville, and this is Torville’s home. You and your sister have no right to be here.”

Elgin crouched down and took hold of Pettifog’s shoulders, tugging him in close. “Torville is gone,” he said in a low voice, “and I can do whatever I please. If you don’t follow my orders, I’ll report you to the greater demons. They won’t be pleased to know you’re still here without your wizard, will they?”

Pettifog trembled. His hooves were coming off the floor, Marigold realized, not because he was fluttering his wings but because Elgin was pulling him slowly upward by the shirt collar. “No, sir,” he whispered, turning purple.

Marigold didn’t stop to think. She snatched Pettifog out of Elgin’s grasp and set him down on the floor again. “Don’t you dare threaten him!” she said, picking up the mop and holding it out to Elgin. “If you want the floor cleaned, you can do it yourself.”

Elgin looked startled, as if he had not remembered Marigold was there. He shrugged and took the mop from her hands. For a moment, he held it in both of his, testing the weight of it. Then he swung it right over Marigold’s head.

There was an awful whoosh as the mop zipped past her ears, and a crack as it connected with the stone wall behind her. The wood splintered; half of the handle went flying. Marigold flinched at the sound. On one side of her, Collin took quick, shallow breaths; on the other side, Pettifog was still trembling.

“You work for me now, child.” Elgin sounded almost bored. “The boy and the imp do, too.” He tossed the ruined mop at Marigold’s feet. “Do you understand?”

Marigold couldn’t answer. Elgin was too close to her; the stink of pipe smoke and stale magic clogged her throat, and she knew that Elgin wouldn’t hesitate to crack her against the wall, just as he’d done with the mop. All she could do was nod.

Collin and Pettifog were nodding, too, which seemed to suit Elgin. “Good,” he said. “I don’t want to see any of you again until the workroom is spotless.” He turned to leave, then paused in the doorway. “And fix that mop.”

For ages after Elgin had left the room, Marigold could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Pettifog was silent. Even Collin’s good cheer had drained away. “I didn’t mind the creatures in the wildwood so much,” Collin said, “or the Thing, or the night terror.” He took a shaky breath, looking at the spot where Elgin had been. “But he’s worse.”

“He’s wicked,” Marigold said quietly. Elgin was more wicked than she had ever been, even in her worst moments. He was more wicked than the scornful royal steward; more wicked than her parents, or Countess Snoot-Harley, or any of the others who paid wizards for curses; more wicked even than Torville with all his carefully planned creaks and shadows. Marigold wondered how many plates or vases or broomsticks had splintered around Torville’s head long ago. “What do we do now?” she asked.

“We do what the Miseries tell us.” Pettifog looked grim. “I don’t think we have a choice in the matter.”

Marigold did as she was told. She didn’t sneak or snoop or protest. She nailed wooden boards across the broken kitchen window, cleared away the forgotten plates in the dining room, and ran through the fortress on errands for Vivien, Elgin, and the other wizards, who had returned laden with cases of magical supplies. She helped Horace haul something that looked like a heavy stone birdbath through the front door, untangled a dozen jumbled spools of spider silk for Petronella, and made up imp-size beds for the Twice-Times Witch’s two assistants. She didn’t dare do otherwise: the Miseries prowled the fortress, giving commands and shouting at anyone whose work displeased them. “Wake up, you lazy lump!” cried Vivien, pinching Collin’s ear when he dozed off over the stove. “You’re burning my flapjacks. And, you” — she scowled at the short and warty wizard, who was coming in with an armload of purplish plants — “is that all the fresh blissbane you brought? A few measly stalks?”

From her spot scrubbing dishes at the sink, Marigold watched the short and warty wizard tremble. “There’s more in my garden, Vivien,” he said, “but it’s not quite ready to pick, so I thought —”

“Go and get it!” said Vivien. “Now! We’re going to need at least twice that much to ruin Imbervale.” She glared at the short and warty wizard until he shuffled back the way he’d come. Then she snatched three flapjacks off Collin’s frying pan, pinched his other ear until he yelped, and swept out of the room.

As soon as she was gone, Marigold set down her sponge. “Collin,” she whispered, “are you all right?”

When Collin pushed his hair away from his face with an egg-spattered hand, Marigold could see his eyes were red. “This isn’t exactly the sort of adventure I hoped for,” he said in a small voice.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here with me.” Marigold gave him a dishwater-damp hug. “Did you hear what Vivien said?”

“About Imbervale?” Collin nodded and rubbed his ears. “I thought the wizards were only mad at Rosalind. I didn’t think they were going to ruin the whole kingdom!”

“I didn’t, either.” Marigold pulled the stopper out of the sink drain and watched the soapy water rush down in glugs. As unhappy as she’d been in Imbervale, she couldn’t allow the wizards to unleash their spells all over it. What would happen to her family? To Cook and all the servants? Even the steward, whom Marigold would have happily sprinkled with tongue-tying powder, didn’t deserve to be cursed with big magic. Pettifog had warned her not to disobey the Miseries, and Torville had told her not to interfere with their plans, but Marigold had never been much good at doing what she was supposed to.

“I don’t know how to stop big magic,” she whispered, “but Torville might. Do you have any idea where he is?”

Collin frowned. “I haven’t seen him since Elgin took him away.”

“Then we’ll find him,” Marigold said. “Maybe Pettifog knows where he’s gone.”

Pettifog was in the back hallway, soaked to the skin. “Oh, no!” said Marigold. “What happened to you?”

“The cursed toilet was rude to Vivien, and she told me to take a plunger to it.” Pettifog wrung out his wings. “Don’t ask me how it went.”

“Have you seen Torville?” Marigold asked instead.

Pettifog shook his head. “I’ve been looking everywhere the wizards send me. He’s not in the dungeon, the storeroom, or the room full of raspberry jam. And I’m getting worried. It’s been hours since he’s eaten.” He squeezed water out of his handkerchief. “There are too many places in this fortress to hide a blob of glop.”

“We’ll keep searching, all three of us. As soon as the wizards leave us alone —”

“You there!” The sharp-tooth wizard swept toward them down the hall. “Yes, you. The housemaid, or whoever you are.” She pointed at Marigold. “Fetch some water for our scrying spell, and bring it to the room of creaks and whispers. Ten bucketfuls should be enough.”

Marigold sighed and went to get water. The wizards, she discovered as she hauled buckets back and forth through the fortress, had divided themselves into three groups. A few were in the room of creaks and whispers, pouring the water Marigold brought them into the stone birdbath, staring into it, and then arguing about what each of them had seen reflected on the surface. “That grove of beech trees is ten miles outside Imbervale,” Horace complained as Marigold delivered her seventh bucket. “We won’t get a good view from there.” He straightened up from the birdbath and looked over both his shoulders. “Who’s whispering?”

“It’s the room,” Marigold reminded him, taking care to slosh water on his feet.

A second group had gathered in the dining room. These wizards kept demanding coffee, which Collin had to brew in the fortress’s largest saucepan, and they helped themselves to plenty of Torville’s traveling powder. Bangs echoed through the halls as they poofed out of the fortress and back again. When they weren’t traveling, they sat around the dining table, studying a large scroll that Elgin had snatched from Torville’s storeroom.