Chronicles of Whetherwhy by harpercollinschildrens

ILLUSTRATED BY DAVID WYATT

First published in the United Kingdom by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2024

HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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ISBN 978–0–00–861157–6 WTS ISBN 978–0–00–872886–1

Anna James and David Wyatt assert the moral right to be identified as the author and illustrator of the work respectively.

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For my sister, Hester – I built a magic school for you.

‘Things change: authors and wizards are not always to be trusted: nobody can explain a dragon’

from Tales From Earthsea by Ursula K. Le Guin

‘“Where have they gone?”

“Wherever magicians used to go. Behind the sky. On the other side of the rain”’

from Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell by Susanna Clarke

‘The point is that the pleasures of spring are available to everybody, and cost nothing’

from Some Thoughts on the Common Toad by George Orwell

Prologue

nce upon a time, or maybe it was a time that has not yet come to pass – or perhaps even at this very moment –there was an island called Whetherwhy. Some say it fell from the sky, others that it surfaced from the deep. Some claim that an earthquake cracked the land and caused it to separate and float away. But, wherever it came from, one thing is for sure. You could sail or walk or fly for a year and a day and never find the land of Whetherwhy.’

‘That’s impossible,’ says a child.

She is one of a gaggle of grandchildren sitting cross-legged at the feet of an old man with white hair wearing a burgundy cashmere jumper and corduroy trousers. He is sitting in a velvet armchair whose arms have been worn to a shiny softness

through use. Bright spring sunshine spills on to them all. They are drinking cloudy lemonade.

‘When it comes to Whetherwhy,’ the grandfather says, ‘the impossible is as common as breakfast. It’s why it has been hidden away from the rest of the world. To protect itself and its magic.’

‘They have magic there?’ another grandchild asks, eyes full of wonder and envy and hope.

‘Of course they do,’ replies the grandfather. ‘Everyone there has a little bit of magic that is all their own, but each year a handful of enchanters are born – people who can see the magic in everything. Would you like to hear about what happened when someone found out they were an enchanter?’

The grandchildren nod and shuffle closer. Their grandfather smiles and leans down to pick up an old leather-bound book that creaks open just as an old book ought to. The children look up at him eagerly, for there is no argument that he is the best storyteller in the family – although they’ve never seen this particular book before.

‘All right then,’ he says. ‘This is the first Chronicle of Whetherwhy, which tells of an age of enchantment. It begins on the first day of spring, when the magic of every child of thirteen is weighed and measured.’

1uniper Quinn was curled up by the fire, reading a book, and her twin brother Rafferty was entirely focused on making a tiny origami bird, when a very cross man, accompanied by an equally grumpy-looking dog, appeared at the door of their family bookbindery.

‘You’ve lost it!’ he shouted, waving his walking stick at them. ‘You’ve lost my book! I always said twins were no good, get up to too much mischief! Can’t tell you apart! It’s unsettling!’

Although Rafferty and Juniper were very clearly twins, with their matching red curly hair, green eyes and freckled, pale skin, no one paying any attention would mix them up. As well as Rafferty being a boy and Juniper a girl, Juniper

was an inch taller, and Rafferty had a kink in his nose from an unfortunate incident involving a butternut squash.

‘I’m so sorry to hear that, Mr . . . ?’ Rafferty said politely as Juniper sat in silent alarm, still wrenching her concentration from the world of her book where people travelled around in shiny red coaches and made magic from wires and something called electricity.

‘Mr Griffith! Bryn Griffith!’ the man shouted. ‘And you’ve lost my book! Where are your parents?’

‘Our father has gone to the bakery and our mother’s at the printing press,’ Juniper said politely, going to stand by Rafferty behind the desk. ‘Maybe we could help you find your book? Did you drop it off to be bound?’

‘Of course I did!’ Bryn said. ‘Why else would I be here! And it’s my late wife’s cookbook, and you’ve lost it, and you’ve lost her recipes. You’ve lost a bit . . . well, a bit of her.

A bit I can’t get back again.’

As he said it, his anger drained away and he leaned wearily on his walking stick. Rafferty and Juniper exchanged a glance and a nod.

‘Why don’t you come and sit here, Mr Griffith?’ Rafferty said gently, leading him to the armchair Juniper had just vacated.

‘And I’ll get you a cup of chamomile tea,’ said Juniper. ‘We’ll find your book for you, I’m sure.’

A few moments later, she returned with a steaming mug to hear Bryn telling Rafferty about how he and his wife had met.

‘And so she brought me a slice of carrot cake and I think I fell in love on the spot. She made the best carrot cake you could ever imagine,’ he explained. ‘And she would make it for me on my birthday, and it’s my birthday tomorrow, and the first since she’s gone, and I wanted to get her recipes all bound up nice, you see, to keep them safe.’

‘Of course,’ Juniper said with a tentative pat to Bryn’s hand as she handed him the tea. ‘I’m so sorry that we’ve caused you any upset – but I’m sure we won’t have lost it. When did you bring it in?’

‘A month ago!’ Bryn said, getting a little irked again. ‘A whole month since I sent it off! Got young Peppermint to bring it to you and she said the gal at the desk told her it would be ready in a week! Two silver coins payable on collection!’

Rafferty went to check the bindery ledger, flipping back the thick parchment sheets until roughly a month ago. He ran his finger down the entries, looking for Bryn Griffith, or any mention of a handwritten cookbook, but there was nothing. He gave Juniper a look of concern.

‘Well, Mr Griffith, I’m afraid I can’t find any record of it being delivered,’ he said carefully. ‘But I’m sure we’ll track it down. Have you checked with Peppermint?’

‘Of course I have,’ he huffed. ‘She promises she brought it – said she gave it to a short gal with yellowy hair.’

‘Short with yellowy hair?’ Juniper repeated in confusion, for none of their family were particularly

short, apart from eight-year-old Blossom, and not one of the seven Quinns had blond hair – the five children were either redheads after their father, or brunettes after their mother.

‘And look here,’ Mr Griffith said, pulling something out of his waistcoat pocket. ‘I clean forgot! Proof!’

He brandished a small slip of pink paper at them, marked at the top with EvErink PrintErs. The twins breathed a sigh of relief.

‘I’m afraid Peppermint has got in a muddle,’ Juniper said gently. ‘She’s taken your recipe book up to the big printer’s on the estate; it never made it to us.’

‘So they’ve lost my book!’ Mr Griffith said.

‘I’m sure it’s only been put somewhere and forgotten,’ she replied. ‘They don’t even do hand-binding there – it’s just a bit of confusion that’ll be easily sorted.’

‘My old legs won’t get me up to Everink,’ Mr Griffith said with an exhausted sigh. ‘I’ll have to find another penny for Peppermint.’

‘Don’t worry about that,’ Rafferty said straightaway. ‘We’ll go up and find it for you. Why don’t you tell us how you wanted it bound, and we’ll put it in the ledger now so you don’t have to come back?’

‘You’d do that for an old man who stomped in here, shouting at you for a mistake that wasn’t yours?’ Bryn asked in surprise.

‘Of course,’ Juniper said. ‘It’s no bother. Did you have anything in particular in mind for the binding?’

‘Something straightforward and pretty, just like my Heulwen was,’ Bryn said. ‘Maybe a sun; she was summer magic through and through. Or a honeysuckle for June, her birthday month.’

‘That sounds perfect,’ Rafferty said, jotting it down in the ledger, already picturing a beautiful embroidered honeysuckle.

He was still learning the family trade, but he thought he might ask his father if he could design this one himself. Rafferty loved all things thread and stitching. Juniper had less of a natural affinity for the actual making of the books, preferring to read their contents.

‘Now, why don’t you sit here and have your tea,’ Juniper said to the old man, who looked like he might be about to doze off along with his dog. ‘I’ll get Ma to finalise everything for you, and one of us will pop up to the printer’s tomorrow, after the—’

But neither Bryn Griffith, his dog nor the twins were able to relax after the mystery of the missing book had been solved, for at that moment the bindery door burst open and Rowan Quinn, the twins’ father, ran in, panting heavily.

‘They’re coming!’ he gasped. ‘Early! The enchanters are almost here!’