People called her Zippo. It had to be a joke. Malcolm had never seen anyone walk so slowly or so awkwardly. It wasn’t cold, but the old woman wore layers of tightly wrapped, bright-coloured shawls. In one hand, she held a roughly carved stick. She stopped toe to toe with him, her head cocked to one side, pinning him in place with pale, almost white eyes. “Cat got your tongue, boy?” She spat. “Come on! Out with it!”

Malcolm’s mouth flapped. What was he supposed to say? He’d only seen the woman once before – in the gardens when he and Dec were out foraging. She obviously worked at the hall, and she was mad at him for hanging around so late, but the last of the sponsors had only just left. He wasn’t that far behind them. Zippo’s eyes darted to his hand, the hand that held his stone. “Your word?” she said. Malcolm handed it over.

Zippo felt the stone, taking its weight. “Eight o’clock sharp,” she said. Her voice rang through the hall, almost musical. “I’ve no time for tardiness, mind.” She handed back the stone and turned for the door.

Malcolm returned his dictionary to his pocket. Did she just offer to sponsor him? Zippo had examined his stone and then told him what time to turn up. If that wasn’t a sponsorship deal, then he didn’t know what was. “Thank you!” he called to the old woman’s departing back. “You won’t regret it, ma’am. I’ll do you proud, you’ll see!”

Zippo paused. She smiled –a sad smile that made Malcolm’s heart jolt in his chest. Surely, she wasn’t regretting taking him on already. “Do me proud, eh?” the woman mused. “Leave me in ruins more like.”

What was that supposed to mean?

By the time Mal had decided that even a crazy sponsor was better than no sponsor at all, the old woman was limping out into the darkness. “Where?” he shouted. “Eight o’clock where?” Zippo didn’t bother to stop. Once forward motion was achieved, she’d long since found it was best for old bones to make the most of it.

If his spell had involved something to do with speed, Malcolm would have triggered it there and then. He ran for home like all hell was after him, questions hounding him all the way. What if the old woman was a seamstress? Was that where her name came from? Could he really apply himself to fastenings for the rest of his life? No. He needed to stick to the facts. She was a caretaker at the town hall, or maybe a cleaner. What was important was he had a skill stone. He had a sponsor. He started first thing tomorrow morning. It was very important not to be late… But late where?

Malcolm skidded around the side of the inn and charged through the paddock, his feet pounding over the wet grass. Under the alder tree, the old donkey pricked his ears and threw back his head. There’d be no wolf attacks tonight – not on his watch!

“HHEEEEEEEE-HAAAAW!” The dead stirred. A light flashed on in the inn.

“Sssshhhh! Assy! Shhhhh!” Mal dove to the ground, ripping out huge handfuls of dock leaves. “Shhh, Assy! Here, boy. Come get ‘em.”

Assmodeus stopped mid the next magnificent bray and tossed his great, shaggy head. What a coincidence! All wolves well and truly banished just in time for nibbles. He trotted over to collect his reward. The young boy’s hands were as firm and warm as ever, though he smelled more like the bigger boy tonight with that peppery tang of stone magic all over him.

Declan’s face appeared at the door. “Get in, won’t you! If she hears us!” His eyes flashed to the inn. He made a cutting sign across his throat.

“Good guarding, Assy.” Mal thrust the last of the leaves at the old donkey and followed Declan into the hut.

It smelled glorious inside. Mal peered about him hopefully. No fire of course, but the oven still glowed. Declan stood by the table, digging his nails under splinters of wood.

“I got a sponsor! Mal blurted. Declan let out the breath he didn’t realise he held.

“I knew you would. Good job, Mal! Let’s see it, then.” He took the stone, handing his brother a biscuit in return. Malcolm’s eyes widened. The bakes were eye-wateringly expensive. He’d never had a whole one all to himself. He snapped the treasure in half.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“No, no.” Declan waved his hand away. “You got yourself a sponsor. If you’re good enough, and they like you, you’ll be triggered in no time, and then there’s whatever you find in the archives.” Mal watched the worry lines fade from his brother’s face. It might not be the menagerie, but he’d not seen Declan this relaxed in… ever. Mal savoured the sharp sweetness of burst blackberries on his tongue.

“Up, hey,” said Declan reading the tiny stone. “Could be part of anything I guess, but you got a sponsor – that’s what matters, so spill.” He settled back against the wall. “Every detail, mind, no skimping.”

***

“Did he really say you might trigger a feck up?”

Mal nodded, chasing the last sliver of crystallised hazelnut into his mouth where it dissolved with a satisfying sizzle. “I agreed with him an’ all,” he laughed. “I thought I’d messed up big time. Especially at the end when everyone had gone.”

Declan looked up from the piece of cord he was working on. “What d’you mean ‘everyone had gone’? You did get a sponsor, didn’t you? You said you had a sponsor.” His eyes drilled into Malcolm’s.

“I did. I did!” Mal flinched. The intensity in Declan’s gaze unnerved him. He hesitated, sprats shoaling in his stomach. What if he’d got it wrong and misread the entire conversation with the old woman? Thank the gods he’d finished his biscuit. Now, Zippo never actually used the word ‘sponsor’. What was it she’d said? “I have to be there at eight o’clock sharp.”

“Where?” snapped Declan.

Malcolm screwed up his eyes. He ought to have tested this out first. Now, he was in for it. “They call her Zippo,” he hedged.

“Zippo? Whoa! Maly boy!” Declan sprang to his feet. His voice shook. “You’ve only gone and done it!”

Malcolm was fast losing track of the situation. “Yeah. Go me! I’ve done it, alright.” Oh Gods, what had he done?

“Six years! Six years I’ve listened to you going on and on and on. Day in day out - I’m going to work for the menagerie. I’m going to work for the menagerie.”

“I’m going to work for the menagerie?” breathed Malcolm.

“You’re going to work for the menagerie,” said Declan and pulled him into a rough hug, his face wet against Malcolm’s.

Zippo worked as some sort of healer at the menagerie. She’d been there for years. It was all Declan knew. Well, healing wasn’t exactly the same as fighting monsters, but it was a good start. It was in the right place at least. Malcolm watched Dec pull a piece of cord from his pocket and lie it along his arm. Seemingly satisfied, his brother held it out. “This is for you,” he muttered. He waved the cord. “For the stone.”

“I know what it’s for but…” Malcolm swallowed. The string of purple leather was as much a part of his brother as his stubbly black hair and quick temper. “It’s yours.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve kept a piece for me.” Declan lifted his shirt sleeve. The purple string was so tight around his wrist that the skin had swollen.

“But it’s not safe there,” Mal whispered. Ever since he could remember, Declan had worn the same purple cord around his waist, where no one could see it, where no one could take it.

“If someone wants a stone of mine bad enough, they’ll take it whether I wear it around my arm or my waist. Anyhow it’s not like I’ve got stones lined up waiting to trigger, is it? This thing’ll be empty for a long time yet. Now, wait here!” He jumped to his feet and hurried out of the door.

Malcolm picked up the cord. A skill stone only became part of the holder’s core once it was triggered. Until then, people wore their stones against their skin, waiting. He twisted the string through his fingers, marvelling at its softness and the gentle pull of magic. Not all stone strings had magic in them. The purple cord came from the hide of a creature of magical purity. It was the only thing of value they had left. The door banged.

“That string took some snapping, I can tell you, so you needn’t be worrying about anyone stealing either of them.” Declan thrust out a fist. “Now, before you start, all’s I know is that it’s yours. It’s been yours since before you were born.” He uncurled his hand. In the centre of his palm sat a slim grey stone, a little bigger than the up stone. “I don’t want none of your questions ‘cause I’ve no answers to give. Got it?” Declan had that intense look about him again. His eyes shone. Malcolm nodded. This was about their mother. “Tie both the stones on. You don’t want to lose them already!” Declan forced out a laugh and dropped the second stone into Malcolm’s hand. Then, he faked a yawn and flopped down on the narrow bunk. “Early start again.” He pulled a thin blanket up over his head and turned away.

Malcolm played along. The only time his brother ever came near to tears was when something involved their mother. Mal barely remembered her. Even so, while he waited for Dec to fall asleep, he imagined her pressing the stone into Declan’s hand, and whispering with her dying breath, “For Malcolm, so that he may become…” No, hang on. “For Malcolm, so he will become…” Nope. “For Malcolm, the greatest monster fighter who ever…” He shot up. He hadn’t even looked at the second stone! What if it said fight! What if it said… Six hundred and fifty-three possibilities marched across his brain. He held his inheritance up to the window.

K-I-T-T-E-N.

He didn’t need the dictionary to know what spell it came from.