Eye of Zoltar by Jasper Fforde (Excerpt)

8/11/2019 Eye of Zoltar by Jasper Fforde (Excerpt)

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Ne w Yo r k Ti m e s Be s t -S e l l i n g Au t ho r

T H E C H R O N I C L E S O F K A Z A M

B O O K T H R E E

J A S P E R F F O R D E


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Copyright 2014 by Jasper Fforde

Originally published by Hodder & Stoughton

All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduceselections from this book, write to Permissions, Houghton MifinHarcourt Publishing Company, 215 Park Avenue South, New York,New York 10003.

www.hmhco.com

Text set in Garamond 3 Lt Std.

L I B R A R Y O F C O N G R E S S C ATA L O G I N G - I N - P U B L I C AT I O N D ATA

Fforde, Jasper.The Eye of Zoltar / by Jasper Fforde.

pages cm. (The chronicles of Kazam ; book 3)Summary: Sixteen-year-old Jennifer Strange faces the impossiblewhen the Mighty Shandar emerges from his preserved state andpresents her with a task that sends her and her companions on a

journey from which they may never return.ISBN 978-0-547-73849-9 (hardback)

[1. Magic Fiction. 2. Voyages and travels Fiction.3. Fantasy Fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.F4443Eye 2014[Fic] dc23

Manufactured in the United States of AmericaDOC 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

45XXXXXXXX


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T he rst thing we had to do was catch the Tralfamo-saur. The obvious question, other than Whats a Tralfa-mosaur? was Why us? The answer to the rst questionwas that this was a magical beast, created by some long-forgotten wizard when conjuring up weird and exotic

creatures had been briey fashionable. The Tralfamosauris about the size and weight of an elephant, has a brain nobigger than a Ping-Pong ball, and can outrun a human.More relevant to anyone trying to catch one, Tralfamo-saurs arent particularly fussy about what they eat. Andwhen they are hungry which is much of the time they are even less fussy. A sheep, cow, rubber tire, gardenshed, antelope, smallish automobile, or human would go

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down equally well. In short, the Tralfamosaur is a lot likea Tyrannosaurus rex, but without the sunny disposition. And we had to capture it. Oh, and the answer to theWhy us? question was that it was our fault the rottenthing had escaped. In case youre new to my life, Im sixteen, a girl, andan orphan hey, no biggie; lots of kids dont have par-ents here in the Ununited Kingdoms, because so many

people have been lost in the endless Troll Wars these pastsixty years. With lots of orphans around, theres plentyof cheap labor. I got lucky. Instead of being sold into thegarment, fast food, or hotel industry, I get to spend mysix years of indentured servitude at Kazam Mystical ArtsManagement, a registered House of Enchantment run bythe Great Zambini. Kazam does what all Houses of En-chantment used to do: rent out wizards to perform magi-cal feats. The problem is that in the past half century,magic has faded, so we are really down to nding lostshoes, rewiring houses, unblocking drains, and getting

cats out of trees. Its a bit demeaning for the once-mightysorcerers who work for us, but at least its paid work. At Kazam I found out that magic has not much todo with black cats, cauldrons, wands, pointy hats, andbroomsticks. No, those are only in the movies. Realmagic is weird and mysterious, a fusion between scienceand faith. The practical way of looking at it is this: Magicswirls about us like an invisible fog of emotional energy


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that can be tapped by those skilled in the mystical arts,and then channeled into a concentrated burst of energyfrom the tips of the index ngers. The technical namefor magic is variable electro-gravitational mutable sub-atomic force, but the usual term is wizidrical energy, or,simply, crackle. So there I was, assistant to the Great Zambini, learn-ing well and working hard, when Zambini disappeared,

quite literally, in a puff of smoke. He didnt return, or atleast not for anything but a few minutes at a time andoften in random locations, so I took over the running ofthe company at age fteen. Okay, that was a biggie, butI coped and, long story short, I saved dragons from ex-tinction, averted war between the nations of Snodd andBrecon, and helped the power of magic begin to reestab-lish itself. And thats when the trouble really started. KingSnodd thought using the power of magic for corporateprot would be a seriously good scam, something we

at Kazam werent that happy about. Even longer storyshort, we held a magic contest to decide who controlsmagic, and after a lot of cheating by the king to try tomake us lose, he failed and we are now a House of En-chantment free from royal meddling and can concentrateon rebuilding magic into a noble craft. I now manage forty-ve barely sane sorcerers at Ka-zam, only eight of whom have a legal permit to perform


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magic. If you think wizards are all wise purveyors ofthe mystical arts and have sparkling wizidrical energystreaming from their ngertips, think again. They are forthe most part undisciplined, infantile, argumentative,and infuriating; their magic only works when they really concentrate, which isnt that often, and misspellings arecommon. But when it works, a well-spelled feat of magicis the most wondrous thing to behold, like your favorite

book, painting, music, and movie all at the same time,with chocolate and a meaningful hug from someone youlove thrown in for good measure. So despite everything,its a good business in which to work. Besides, theresrarely a dull moment. So thats me. I have an orphaned assistant named Ti-ger Prawns, I am now Dragon Ambassador to the World,and I have a pet Quarkbeast at least nine times as fright-ening as the most frightening thing youve ever seen. My name is Jennifer Strange. Welcome to my world. Now, lets nd that Tralfamosaur.


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T hose forty-ve sorcerers, Tiger, and I all lived in alarge, eleven-story, ornate ex-hotel called Zambini Tow-ers. It was in a bad state of repair, and even though we hadsome spare magic to restore it to glory, we had decided wewouldnt, other than expanding the Kazam ofces after

business picked up. There was a certain charm about thefaded wallpaper, warped wood, missing windowpanes,and leaky roof. Some argued that the surroundings werepeculiarly suitable for the Mystical Arts, others arguedthat the place was a fetid dump suitable only for demoli-tion, and I sat somewhere between the two. When the call came in, Perkins and I were in theshabby, wood-paneled lobby.

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Theres a Tralfamosaur loose somewhere betweenhere and Ross, said Tiger, waving a report forwarded bythe police. Anyone eaten? I asked. All of two railroad workers and part of a sherman.Tiger was twelve and, like me, a foundling. He was stuckat Kazam for four years and after that could apply for citi-zenship or earn it ghting in the next Troll War, which

probably wouldnt be far off. Troll Wars were like Bat-man movies: both were repeated at regular intervals, fea-tured expensive hardware, and were broadly predictable.The difference was that during the Troll Wars, humansalways lost and badly. In Troll War IV, eight years ago,sixty thousand troops were lost before General Snood hadeven nished giving the order to advance. The nal deathtoll was six times higher. Three eaten already? I said. We need to get Big Tback to the zoo before he gets hungry again. How long will that be? asked Tiger, who was small

in stature but big on questions. I swiftly estimated how much caloric value therewas in a railway worker, matched that to what I knew ofa Tralfamosaurs metabolism, and added a rough guess ofhow much of the sherman had been consumed. Threehours, I said. Four, tops. Which sorcerers are on dutyright now?


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Tiger consulted his clipboard. Lady Mawgon andthe Wizard Moobin. Ill help out, said Perkins. He smiled and added,As long as Im not eaten. I told him I couldnt really offer many guarantees asfar as Tralfamosaurs were concerned. Still in? I asked. Why not? he said with a chuckle. I havent beenterried for ooh at least a couple of days.

Perkins was Kazams youngest and newest legal sor-cerer, licensed for less than a week. He was eighteen and,while not yet very powerful, showed good promise; mostsorcerers didnt start doing any really useful magic untiltheir thirties. Perkins and I had been about to go on ourrst date when the Tralfamosaur call came in, but thatwould have to wait. Okay, I said to Tiger. Fetch Mawgon and Moobin,and you should also call Once Magnicent Boo. Got it, said Tiger. I turned to Perkins. Okay if we go on that date

later? You know how it is in the magic industry: spellrst, fun second. I kind of gured that, he replied, so why dont wemake this assignment the date? I could bring some foodand a thermos of hot chocolate. Considering that neither of us had any experiencein romance whatsoever, a working date would surely be


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easier than an actual date. Okay, I said, youre on. Butno dressing up, and we split the cost. Game on. Ill go and make sandwiches and conjureup that thermos.

While I waited for the other sorcerers to arrive, I readwhat I could about Tralfamosaurs in the Codex Magicalis, which wasnt much. The creature had been created magi-

cally in the 1780s on the order of the Cambrian EmpiresEmperor Tharv I, because he wanted a challenging beastto hunt for sport, a role it played with all due savagery.Two hundred years later, people still pay good moneyto try to hunt them, usually with fatal consequences forthe hunter. Oddly, this made Tralfamosaur hunting more popular; it seemed that citizens were becoming increas-ingly fond of danger in these modern, safety-conscioustimes. The Cambrian Empire now made good money outof what it called jeopardy tourism: vacations for thoseseeking life-threatening situations.

The rst to arrive in the lobby was Wizard Moobin,who, unlike all the other sorcerers, was barely insane atall. Aside from his usual magical duties, he worked inmagic research and development. Last month, Moobinsteam had been working on spells for turning oneself tem-porarily to rubber to survive a fall, as well as a method ofreliable communication using snails. He was good com-


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pany, aged a little over forty, and was at least polite andgave me due respect for my efforts. The Tralfamosaur escaped, I told him. When youand Patrick surged this afternoon during the bridge re-building, two quarter-ton blocks of stone were catapultedinto the sky. I wondered what had happened to them, saidMoobin thoughtfully.

One fell to earth in an orchard near Belmont, andthe other landed on the Ross-to-Hereford branch line,derailing a train that was transporting the Tralfamosaurto Woburn Safari Park for some sort of dangerous animalexchange deal. Ah, said Moobin, so were kind of responsible forthis, arent we? Im afraid so, I replied, and its already eaten threepeople. Whoops, said Moobin. Whoops nothing, said Lady Mawgon, who had

arrived with Tiger close behind. Civilians have to taketheir risks with the rest of us. Unlike Moobin, Lady Mawgon was not our favoritesorcerer but was undeniably good at what she did. Shehad been the ofcial sorcerer of the Kingdom of Kentbefore the downturn of magical power, and her fall fromthat lofty status had made her frosty and ill-tempered.


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She had recently turned seventy, scowled constantly, andhad the unsettling habit of gliding everywhere, as thoughshe wore roller skates beneath the folds of her large blackdress. Even so, I said diplomatically, its probably not agood idea to let the Tralfamosaur eat people. I suppose not, conceded Lady Mawgon. Whatabout Once Magnicent Boo?

Already in hand, I replied, indicating to where Ti-ger was speaking on the phone. Once Magnicent Boo had, as her name suggested,once been magnicent. She could have been as powerfulas the Mighty Shandar himself, but was long retired andsaddled with a dark personality that made Lady Mawgonseem almost sunny. The reason was simple: Boo had beenrobbed of her dazzling career in sorcery by the removalof her index ngers, the conduit of a sorcerers power.Lost for over three decades, the ngers had been recentlyrecovered by us but even when Boo was reunited with

the dry bones, the only magic she could do was way-ward and unfocused. These days she studied Quarkbeastsand was the worlds leading authority on Tralfamosaurs,which was the reason we needed her. Shell meet you there, said Tiger, replacing the re-ceiver. Ill stay here and man the phones in case you needanything sent over.


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Once Perkins had returned with the sandwiches, wetrooped outside to my Volkswagen Beetle. There werebetter cars in the basement at Zambini Towers, butthe VW had huge sentimental value: I had been foundwrapped in a blanket on the back seat outside the Ladiesof the Lobster orphanage one windswept night sixteenyears earlier. There was a note stuffed under one wind-shield wiper:

Please look after this poor dear child,as her parents died in the Troll Wars.

PS: I think the engine may need some oi land the tire pressure checked.

PPS: We think her name should beJ ennifer.PPPS: The child, not the car.

PPPPS: For her surname,choose something strange.

The car had been kept all items found with a

foundling were, by royal decree and was presented tome when the Blessed Ladies of the Lobster sold me toKazam. After checking the tire pressure and adding someoil, the engine had started the rst time, and I drove tomy rst job in my own car. If you think fourteen is tooyoung to start driving, think again. The Kingdom ofSnodd grants drivers licenses on the basis of responsibility,


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not age, which can frustrate forty-something guys no endwhen they fail their responsibility test for the umpteenthtime. Shotgun! yelled Lady Mawgon as she plunked her-self in the passenger seat. Everyone groaned. Being in theback of the Volkswagen meant sitting next to the Quark-beast, a creature often described as a cross between a Lab-rador and an open knife drawer, with a bit of velociraptor

and scaly pangolin thrown in for good measure. Despiteits terrifying appearance and an odd habit of eating metal,the Quarkbeast was a loyal and intelligent companion. Right, I said as we drove off, does anyone have aplan for how were going to recapture the Tralfamosaur? There was silence. How about this, I said. We modify our plans withregard to ongoing facts as they become known to us, thenre-modify them as the situation unfolds. You mean make it all up as we go along? askedPerkins.

Right. Its worked before, said Lady Mawgon. Many times, replied Moobin. Quark, said the Quarkbeast.


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T he cargo train that had transported the Tralfamo-saur had been derailed about four miles outside Hereford.The locomotive had stayed upright, but most of the carswere lying in an untidy zigzag along the track. Therewas a huge number of police cars, ambulances, and re

engines, and the night was lit by oodlights on towers. Awillowy ofcer introduced himself as Detective Corbettand then escorted us up the tracks, past the shatteredremnants of the train. The engine driver was the rst eaten, said Corbettas we stared at the wreckage. See these footprints? Hepointed his ashlight at the ground, where a Tralfamo-saur footprint was clearly visible.

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The creature headed northeast, said Moobin afterlooking at several other footprints. Any reports from thepublic? Nothing so far, said Corbett. A Tralfamosaur can be surprisingly stealthy, saidLady Mawgon. Discovering one near you and beingeaten often happen at pretty much the same time. Corbett looked around nervously. The roads are

locked down for a fty-mile perimeter, he said in a hastyIm leaving pretty soon sort of voice, and everyone has beenadvised to stay indoors or in a cellar if they have one.Artillery batteries have been set up in case it goes in thedirection of Hereford, and if you are unsuccessful by rstlight, King Snodd has agreed to send in the landships. What about began Moobin, but Corbett had al-ready gone. It was a dark night, and a light breeze stirred thebranches of the trees. Of the Tralfamosaur, there was nosign. Sending in the landships would be a last resort: lit-

tle could withstand these immensely powerful four-storyarmored tracked vehicles, except trolls, who imperti-nently called them Meals on Wheels. Im not sure a squadron of landships chasing after asingle Tralfamosaur would do anything but cause a hugeamount of damage, said Perkins. Whats the next step? Search me, said Lady Mawgon. Moobin? Not a clue. Lets face it; recapturing nine tons of


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pea-brained enraged carnivore isnt something we do ev-ery day. How was it captured last time? Licorice, came a loud voice behind us, and wejumped. Im sorry? said Lady Mawgon. Licorice, repeated Once Magnicent Boo, who hadjust arrived on her moped. We fell silent. Boo never usedmore words than absolutely necessary, rarely smiled, and

had eyes so dark they seemed like black snooker ballsoating in a bowl of cream. If you listen very carefullyto my plan and follow it to the letter, we have a reason-able chance of catching the Tralfamosaur without anyonebeing eaten. Dene reasonable chance, said Lady Mawgon, butBoo ignored her and continued. We require only a grenade launcher, six pounds ofindustrial-strength licorice, two spells of Class VIII com-plexity, a shipping container, a side of bacon, an automo-bile, several homing snails, a ladder, and two people to

act as bait. Perkins leaned across to me and whispered, Boo waskind of looking at us when the two people as bait thingcame up. I know, I whispered back. Its possible to refuse,but the thing is, who are you more frightened of: OnceMagnicent Boo or a Tralfamosaur?

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An hour later Perkins and I were in my Volkswagen,parked near a crossroads on high ground a mile or twofrom the damaged train. We had watched the lights thatdotted the countryside gradually wink out as residentswere told to extinguish their house lights, a lure for theTralfamosaur. Soon we could see nothing but the starsthrough the open sunroof and the pinkish glow of theQuarkbeast sitting on a wall close by, snifng the air cau-

tiously. The Quarkbeast had been created magically as asort of bloodhound to track other magical beasts, so itwould be able to sense the Tralfamosaur at a distance ofat least ve hundred yards. Enjoying the date so far? I asked cheerily. It could be improved, Perkins replied. In what way? Not being used as Tralfamosaur bait, for one thing. Oh, come on, I said. Its a lovely night to be eatenby nine tons of hunger-crazed monster. Perkins looked up through the open sunroof at the

broad swath of stars above our heads. As if on cue, a shoot-ing star ashed across the sky. Youre half right, he said with a smile. Its a lovelynight. Crazy or nothing, right? I returned his smile. Right. Crazy or nothing. Letscheck everything again. I icked the two glowworms above the dashboardwith my nger. A faint glimmer illuminated the SpellGo


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buttons that Moobin and Lady Mawgon had placed onthe dash. Spells could be cast in advance and lie dormantuntil activated by something as easy to use as the twolarge buttons. One was labeled and the other

. Got the rocket-propelled licorice launcher handy?I asked. Check. Perkins patted the weapon, which instead

of an explosive warhead contained a lump of industrial-grade licorice about the size of a melon. It smelled sostrongly we had to poke the launcher out the sunroof tostop our eyes from watering. Tralfamosaurs could smelllicorice from at least a mile away if the wind was strongenough. We jumped as a snail shot in through the open win-dow and skidded to a halt inside the windshield, leav-ing a slippery trail across the glass. Homing snails wereone of Wizard Moobins recent discoveries. He had foundthat all snails have the capacity to do over one hundred

miles per hour and nd a location with pinpoint accuracy,but didnt because they were horribly lazy and couldntbe bothered. By rewriting a motivating spell commonlyused by TV tness instructors, communication by hom-ing snail was entirely possible and snails were morereliable than pigeons, which were easily distracted. The snail was steaming with exertion and smelledfaintly of scorched rubber, but seemed pleased with itself.


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I gave it a lettuce leaf and popped it in its box while Per-kins opened the note that had been stuck to its shell. Itwas from Lady Mawgon. Reports from worried citizens place the Tralfamo-saur three miles down the road at Woolhope. Woolhopewas the Kingdoms sixth-largest town and home to twelvethousand people and a marzoleum processing plant. I had a sudden thought. Its heading for the are.

Marzoleum reneries always had a gas are lit on atall tower, and it was this, I guessed, that would attractthe Tralfamosaur. It might have a brain the size of a Ping-Pong ball, but when it came to looking for food at night,it was no slouch. Fire and light, after all, generally led tohumans. There, I said, stabbing my nger on the map neara place called Broadmoor Common, just downwind ofWoolhope. Hell be able to smell us easily from there. I whistled to the Quarkbeast, who jumped into theback seat of the car, and we were soon hurtling along the

narrow roads. It was about three a.m. by now, and I ad-mit that I drove recklessly. The police had locked downthe area tight and told everyone to stay in their homes,but even so, I was half expecting to run into a tractor orsomething. I didnt. I ran into something much worse. The Quarkbeast cried out rst, a sort of quarky-quark-quarky noise that spelled danger, and as I braked,my headlights illuminated something nasty and large


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and reptilian on the road ahead. The Tralfamosaurs smalleyes glinted as it looked up. It was bigger than I remem-bered from my occasional visits to the zoo, and it lookedmore dangerous out in the open. There were about fty yards between it and us. Wesat there for a moment, the engine of the Beetle idling.The creature stared at us blankly until I realized we wereupwind, so it probably wasnt aware of the licorice. I

slowly backed the car up, but the Tralfamosaur didntfollow. Against my better judgment I stopped, and theninched slowly forward again. Still it didnt seem that in-terested. Better show yourself, I said to Perkins, and try tolook appetizing. Yes, he said sarcastically, Im well known for mypie impersonations. Perkins took a deep breath, undid his seat belt, stoodup through the sunroof, and waved his arms. The Tralfa-mosaur gave out a deafening bellow and charged.

I slammed the car into reverse and swiftly backedaway, then pulled the wheel around, thumped the gear-shift into rst, and drove off with the Tralfamosaur inclose pursuit. Part one of the plan was now in operation.

Documents

Eye of Zoltar by Jasper Fforde (Excerpt)