Free The Merlin Conspiracy by Diana Wynne Jones

to, you see, and it feeds all the other channels from there.”
    The Merlin went, “Hmm.” He squatted down like a grasshopper beside the well and put his candle down by one of his gawky, bent legs. “Hmm,” he went again. “I see.” Then he pulled open the lid over the well.
    Grundo and I felt the power from where we stood. We found it hard not to sway. The Merlin got up and staggered backward. Behind him, Sir James said, “Ouch!” and covered his face.
    â€œYou see?” said Sybil.
    â€œI do,” said Sir James. “Put the lid back, man!”
    The Merlin dropped the lid back with a bang. “I hadn’t realized,” he said. “That’s strong . If we’re going to use it, we’ll have to conjure some other Power to help us. Are there any available?”
    â€œPlenty,” said Sir James. “Over in Wales particularly.” He turned to Sybil. The candlelight made his profile into a fleshy beak with pouty lips. “How about it? Can you do a working now? We ought to have this Power in and consolidate our advantage now we’ve got it.”
    Sybil had pouty lips, too. They put her chin in shadow as she said, “James, I’m exhausted! I’ve worked myself to the bone this evening, and I can’t do any more! Even going barefoot all the time, it’ll be three days before I’ve recouped my powers.”
    â€œHow long before you can do a strong working?” the Merlin asked, picking his candle up. “My friend James is right. We do need to keep up our momentum.”
    â€œIf we both help you?” Sir James asked coaxingly.
    Sybil hung her head and her hair down and thought, with her big arms planted along her large thighs. “I need three days,” she said at last, rather sulkily. “Whoever helps me, I’m not going to be able to tackle something as strong as this well before that. It won’t take just a minor Power to bespell the thing. We’ll have to summon something big.”
    â€œBut will the effect of the drink last until we do?” Sir James asked, rather tensely.
    Sybil looked up at the Merlin. He said, “It struck me as firm enough for the moment. I don’t see it wearing off for at least a week, and we’ll be able to reinforce it before that.”
    â€œGood enough.” Sir James sprang up, relieved and jolly. “Let’s get this place locked up again, then, and go and have a proper drink. Who fancies champagne?” He pulled keys out of his pocket and strode away down the steps, jingling the keys and lighting the trees to a glinting black with his candle.
    â€œChampagne. Lovely!” said Sybil. She heaved to her feet and shoved the Merlin playfully down the steps in front of her. “Off you go, stranger boy!”
    Grundo and I realized we were likely to get locked inside the garden. We nearly panicked. The moment Sybil was out of sight we surged out onto the flagstones and then realized that the only way out was down those same stone steps to the lopsided pool. That was almost the worst part of the whole thing. We had to wait for Sir James, Sybil, and then the Merlin to get ahead, then follow them, and then try to get ahead of them before they got to the gate in the wall.
    We were helped a lot by the queer way the space in the garden seemed to spread and by all the stone walls and conduits and bushes. We could see Sir James and the other two easily by the light of their flickering candles—and hear them, too, most of the time, talking and laughing. Sybil obviously was tired. She went quite slowly, and the others waited for her. We were able to scud along behind lavender and tall, toppling flowers, or crouch down and scurry past pieces of old wall—though we couldn’t go really fast because it was quite dark by then—and finally we got in front of them and raced out through the gate just before they came merrily along under a rose arch.
    I was