「I am not oo blame a messenger for her tidings,」 said Horyse, as he handed a cup of tea over to Sabriel, who was sitting on what looked like the only fortable chair in the dugout which was the el』s headquarters, 「but y the worst news I have heard for many years.」
「At least I am a living messenger . . . and a friendly one,」 Sabriel said quietly. She hadn』t really thought beyond her own for her father. Now, she was beginning to expand her knowledge of him, to uand that he was more than just her father, that he was many different things to different people. Her simple image of him—relaxing in the armchair of her study at Wyverley College, chatting about her schoolwork, Aierre teology, Charter Magid neancy—was a limited view, like a painting that only captured one dimension of the man.
「How long do we have until Abhorsen』s bindings are broken?」 asked Horyse, breaking into Sabriel』s remembrance of her father. The image she had of her father reag for a teacup iudy disappeared, banished by real tea slopping over in her enamel mug and burning her fingers.
「Oh! Excuse me. I wasn』t thinking . . . how long till what?」
「The binding of the dead,」 the el reiterated, patiently. 「How long till the bindings fail, and the dead are free?」
Sabriel thought back to her father』s lessons, and the a grimoire she』d spent every holiday slowly memorizing. The Book of the Dead it was called and parts of it still made her shudder.
It looked innocuous enough, bound in greeher, with tarnished silver clasps. But if you looked closely, both leather and silver were etched with Charter marks. Marks of binding and blinding, closing and impriso. Only a trained neancer could open that book . . .
and only an uncorrupted Charter Mage could close it. Her father had brought it with him on his visits, and always took it away again at the end.
「It depends,」 she said slowly, f herself to sider the question objectively, without lettiion interfere. She tried to recall the pages that showed the carving of the wind flutes, the chapters on musid the nature of sound in the binding of the dead. 「If Father . . . if Abhorsen is . . . truly dead, the wind flutes will simply fall apart uhe light of the full moon. If he is trapped before the Ninth Gate, the binding will tiil the full moon after he passes beyond, or a particularly strong spirit breaks the weakened bonds.」
「So the moon will tell, in time,」 said Horyse.
「We have fourteen days till it is full.」
「It is possible I could bind the dead anew,」
Sabriel said cautiously. 「I mean, I haven』t do on this sort of scale. But I know how. The only thing is, if Father isn』t . . . isn』t beyond the Ninth Gate, then I o help him as soon as I . And before I do that, I must get to his house and gather a few things . . . chee references.」
「How far is this house beyond the Wall?」 asked Horyse, a calculating look on his face.
「I don』t know,」 replied Sabriel.
「What?」
「I don』t know. I haven』t been there since I was about four. I think it』s supposed to be a secret.
Father had many enemies, not just among the dead. Petty neancers, Free Magic sorcerers, witches—」
「You don』t seem disturbed by your lack of dires,」 interrupted the el dryly. For the first time, a hint of doubt, even fatherly dession, had crept into his voice, as if Sabriel』s youth undermihe respect due to her as both a Charter Mage and neancer.
「Father taught me to how to call