Stolen Magic

by Gail Carson Levine

  Elodie discovered herself surrounded by Albin, Master Robbie, and Master Uwald, who had shoved their way in, too.

  Master Tuomo, on the other side of the fallen high brunka, said, “They pushed him too far. These are circumstances that snap a man’s control.”

  Master Uwald patted Master Robbie’s shoulder, then sidled to Johan-bee and led him away. Elodie twisted out of the crowd to see where they went, which was to the south fireplace. Master Uwald spoke to him there, while Johan-bee continued to rock, his hands over his face. How kind Master Uwald was to take pity on him, when half his own cloak was soaked with broth and, if the tureen had hit him a little higher, he might have been as injured as the high brunka.

  After a minute or two, Master Tuomo started across the great hall toward the two of them.

  Why? Elodie thought. If only she had a brunka’s hearing. And now the high brunka didn’t have it either. The thieves, if there were two after all, could plot without being overheard.

  And they could leave.

  Elodie returned to the middle of the knot of people.

  Mistress Sirka murmured, “I’ve never dosed a brunka before.”

  Elodie wondered if the high brunka’s mind was alert. She said firmly, “I’m so glad we found”—louder—“the Replica.”

  High Brunka Marya didn’t stir. Everyone else looked at Elodie.

  She shrugged. “I thought that might wake her.”

  Albin said, “An excellent notion, Lady El.”

  The bees returned with Mistress Sirka’s satchel.

  The barber-surgeon rummaged inside for a netted sack of little jars. She picked one, unstopped it, and spread an ointment over the lump on High Brunka Marya’s forehead. She found another jar, which she opened and waved under the high brunka’s nose.

  “What will those do?” Ursa-bee asked.

  “The one under her nose wakes people who’ve fainted. The salve brings down swelling in people and, I hope, brunkas.” Mistress Sirka took off High Brunka Marya’s cap to explore her skull with her fingers. “Two more bumps.” She applied ointment to these bumps, too.

  “Brunka skulls are thick,” Deeter-bee said. “We have a book on the anatomy of the brunka. There’s granite in their bones.”

  Good! Excellent!

  But what if Mistress Sirka were really doing harm to the high brunka? Elodie thought. What if the barber-surgeon and Goodman Dror were the thieves, and the high brunka’s injury would allow them to escape, as long as she didn’t wake quickly?

  Johan-bee and his companions returned.

  He knelt by her, across from Ursa-bee. “I’m sorry, Marya. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

  Several bees busied themselves putting the great hall back in order. Two piled dishes on Ludda-bee’s tray. A bee carried the cider pitcher into the kitchen, not bothering to leave paired with another bee.

  “Look!” Master Tuomo cried. “The rainbow is gone.”

  Elodie thought, It’s all falling apart.

  Using the tablecloth, a bee mopped up the pottage on the floor, leaving a circle cleared of rushes.

  Albin whispered to Elodie, “I’m taking you home, Lady El.”

  No!

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  As a monkey, His Lordship delivered the madman to his brother and started back to Zertrum. He didn’t shape-shift into himself until he crossed the river. The ground had become unsteady: softening, hardening, shifting. Distant human cries flared up and died down. He followed the nearest voice.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  “I won’t go.” Elodie took Albin’s hand and tugged him toward the northwest corner of the great hall, the corner not far from the unguarded entrance. The windows high in the wall barely glistened. The day had almost ended.

  When they reached the corner she—thoughtlessly—faced Albin with her back to the entrance. “We can’t leave,” she whispered. “Zertrum will explode if I don’t find the—”

  “You, Lady El? A mansioner? We enact the great events after they—”

  “I’m a detecting dragon’s assistant and a mansioner.” She felt proud, declaring herself.

  “Apologies, Lady El, but we must leave. Your parents would want you to, and I serve them.”

  Doubtless they would. There was no answer to that, but she couldn’t go.

  Albin went on with his argument. “Your safety means more to them—and to me—than the life of anyone on Zertrum.”

  “Listen . . .” An idea was coming. She felt its approach but couldn’t grasp it. “Er . . . all the guests will leave . . . and if the thief—or thieves—is a bee, he or she will leave, too, with some excuse. The thief will go, if not tomorrow, then soon, because the Replica has to be sold or its worth doesn’t matter. Right?”

  “I suppose.” Albin folded his arms.

  “Er . . . but the brunkas and the other bees won’t stop looking for him or her or them. Um . . . it won’t matter to them that Zertrum has already spewed.”

  “We’ll be safe at home, eating your mother’s excellent pottage.”

  She’d be herding geese, and by then Masteress Meenore or His Lordship or both might have died in the volcano.

  The idea arrived, although she hadn’t expected it to be so frightening. “The thieves will want to be safe, too. Because of them, we’ll still be in danger.”

  Albin wasn’t used to deducing. “How do you come to that?”

  “Because the thieves will plot to silence everyone who was here during the theft. Don’t you see? There are clues even if we don’t recognize them yet. One may be that Mistress Sirka tried to dose Dror-bee—I mean, Goodman Dror—with what she says was a love potion, or that Master Robbie’s grandfather was the last thief, or that Ludda-bee hates everyone and everything except cooking. Or something else.”

  Albin’s eyes were tight on her, concentrating as only a mansioner can.

  “The innocent will go home. Some of us will try to forget, and some of us will try to remember. One morning, you or I or Master Robbie or another of us will sit up in bed with all the pieces fitted together.” Her heart began to gallop. “The thief will dread that morning, and he or she—who will have killed many on Zertrum—will have the wealth to kill us, too, not in person, but by using hirelings. You may not come back from fixing a fence. I may not return from herding. Master Uwald may be poisoned. Master Robbie may seem to have run away. Mistress—”

  “Enough. I understand.”

  “One more thing. If everyone stays here, that can’t happen. We’re safest here.”

  He thought about it. “Lady El, Lady El. All right. We stay. For now.”

  She took his hand and turned to go back to the others—and discovered her mistake. She had stopped observing.

  The entrance, without the rainbow glow, remained unguarded, and the great hall had half emptied.

  Lambs and calves! Had the thieves escaped already? Escaped with the Replica?

  Mistress Sirka continued to tend High Brunka Marya, who had been moved onto a pallet. Ursa-bee and Goodman Dror hovered nearby.

  Several other bees, not in pairs, searched the shelves and cupboards. Deeter-bee watched from a bench by the fireplace outside the kitchen.

  But Masters Robbie, Tuomo, and Uwald, as well as Johan-bee and Ludda-bee, were gone.

  “Albin, did you see anyone leave the Oase?”

  “My eyes were on you, Lady El.”

  She called out, “Has anybody gone out?”

  Ursa-bee answered, “No one, little mistress.”

  Relief flooded her. “Oh, good. Thank you.” Trailed by Albin, she went to the entrance, leaned against the heavy door, and felt the cold of a November evening penetrate her shoulders.

  Albin smiled fondly at her and said a mansioner’s proverb: “‘A butterfly cannot portray a bear.’ You can’t be a guard, and I know only stage fighting.”

  “We have to stop whoever comes.”

  “Very well.” He bowed his most elaborate bow. “I hope the farmer’s helper doesn’t ha
ve to die for the heroine.”

  From the door that led to the corridor, Johan-bee entered the great hall carrying a longbow, with a quiver of arrows on his back. What’s more, he’d strapped a sword around his waist. As awkward as ever, he strode stiffly toward the entrance.

  Johan-bee was the thief?

  Her masteress had never deduced or induced him as a villain.

  Armed as he was, they’d have to let him go.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  The sun sank below the horizon. Zertrum blew out a gob of fiery molten rock, which lit the gray sky with a second sunset as it dropped back into the mouth of the volcano.

  Masteress Meenore thought the boulder reduced enough. IT heaved, and the rock rolled off the herder. By the half-light of dusk, IT saw that Goodman Hame’s right leg had merely been scraped, but his left ankle was covered with dried blood and swollen to thrice the size of the other.

  “We will leave in a moment. First, what is the name of your new master?”

  “Erick.”

  “Excellent. Can you kneel?”

  He proved he could by kneeling.

  IT lowered ITself and extended a wing. “Spread your cloak across my back. . . . Good. Now climb on. . . . You may crawl. You will not hurt my wings, which are nearly indestructible as well as beautiful. When I fly, refrain from touching my scales, which will be burning hot.”

  The man was in place. IT flapped ITs wings and sprang into the air, aware instantly of the difference in weight between Goodman Hame and Elodie.

  Three wing flaps took IT above Master Uwald’s house, where the limping man was just taking his place on a loaded sledge behind a team of oxen.

  Below the house was a small field edged with pine trees. IT spiraled down.

  “I thought you were saving me,” Master Hame cried.

  “I am.” IT landed carefully, not so near the oxen, IT hoped, that they would bolt.

  Too close. The terrified beasts broke the sledge out of the snow and began careering down the mountain.

  Swearing a dozen dragon oaths, IT flew above the sledge as it crossed a snowy pasture and started onto a long ledge that ended in a cliff. Master Erick’s cry rose thin and sharp as he pulled uselessly back on the reins.

  IT set ITs teeth. I will not be the cause of this man’s death. I will not be Uwald’s instrument.

  The oxen hurtled on.

  I will do what I have never before attempted. IT swooped lower, ITs claws extended.

  The first ox plunged over the cliff.

  Flapping ITs wings, acutely aware of Goodman Hame on ITs back, IT lifted portly Master Erick by his cloak and his tunic, deposited him in the snow, and landed at his side.

  Master Erick waved his hand in front of his nose. “You almost killed me! And your smell may finish me off.”

  Zertrum’s rumble rose in pitch and volume.

  IT ignored the rudeness. “Master Uwald stole the Replica and hopes to contrive your death.”

  “No!” from Goodman Hame.

  “He wouldn’t dare!” from Master Erick.

  “I hope to frustrate him. Goodman Hame here was trapped by a falling boulder and is injured. If you—”

  “IT saved me, Master. You should—”

  “Master Erick, do not delay. The mountain is not reliable. Spread your cloak over me. Sit on it. You will not be cold. Do not touch my scales when—”

  The ledge they stood on trembled.

  “Hurry!”

  Master Erick scrambled up.

  IT flapped ITs wings, but Master Erick was heavy! IT was still on the ground when the ledge collapsed beneath them.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Johan-bee stopped at the stricken high brunka and rocked on his heels. His sword vibrated. “Is she better?”

  Phew! Elodie thought. He isn’t leaving. Then why the sword and longbow?

  “No,” Mistress Sirka said.

  Goodman Dror, still standing at her side, chimed in. “She could die because of you, you clumsy clod.”

  Ursa-bee added, “Ludda meant no harm before. She can’t help her sharp tongue.”

  Hoping to do some good, Elodie said, “I think it was unkind of her.”

  Johan-bee headed toward the door, where they were standing.

  Oh no!

  “Marya didn’t want people to leave. Stand back.” He had appointed himself armed door guard.

  “We’re not leaving,” Albin said, making room for him. “Lady El persuaded me to stay.”

  “Step away. I don’t want help. People call me useless, but I can do this, and I need little sleep.”

  What about when he wanted to use the garderobe?

  Elodie and Albin moved a few feet to the side.

  “Farther.”

  They obliged.

  “That’s a rare ability,” Albin said encouragingly, “being able to stay awake. Do you really need the weapons? You can just shout and I’ll help you. Someone else may get hurt.”

  “Only if they try to force their way through.”

  With Johan-bee’s luck, he might stab himself—or his arrow might bounce off something, come back, and end his sad life. Or he might injure someone else, not meaning to, as he’d already hurt High Brunka Marya.

  “Ursa-bee,” Mistress Sirka said, “a drink of broth may do the high brunka good.”

  “I’ll fetch it.” She hurried to the kitchen.

  “Where is everyone?” Elodie asked.

  Johan-bee said, “Most of the bees are searching. Master Uwald and young Master Robbie are in their room, and Master Tuomo is in his.”

  Preparing to leave? Elodie thought.

  “Ludda is cooking,” Goodman Dror said. “She says the last meal was ruined.”

  Elodie had to hold herself back from laughing. While a brunka was insensible, while people and a precious ogre and dragon might be dying, while a mountain was on the point of exploding, a spiteful cook fussed over pottage and cabbage and beets. Why didn’t she help with the search?

  Because she was a thief and knew where the Replica was?

  Just as Ursa-bee emerged from the kitchen with a mug of broth, the door to the corridor opened. Master Tuomo, carrying a satchel in each hand, marched in, followed by Master Uwald, similarly burdened. Master Robbie lagged behind, bearing a large velvet sack in one hand and a small burlap one in the other. His eyes sought Elodie.

  “Only Master Uwald may leave.” Johan-bee’s right hand rested on the hilt of his sword; his left held his bow. His rocking slowed. “He’s no thief.”

  No one could leave! Elodie thought. What to do?

  Master Tuomo halted but didn’t put his satchels down. His face reddened to scarlet.

  “And Robbie.” Master Uwald continued toward the door.

  “Only you, Master Uwald.”

  Master Robbie stopped in the center of the great hall.

  Master Uwald stopped, too, his face regretful. “I’ll come back for you, son.”

  Elodie thought, Albin would never leave me behind. IT had, but IT was a dragon, and IT was hoping to save everyone.

  What to do?

  “If Marya awakens,” Master Uwald added, “she’ll let you come to me.”

  But the high brunka seemed far from waking. Mistress Sirka had to hold her mouth open to dribble in a thin stream of broth. “There you go. Isn’t that good?”

  “Johan-bee, what will he accomplish that I can’t?” Master Tuomo’s gruff voice was pleading. “He doesn’t have sons on the mountain.”

  “Just Master Uwald.”

  “Because he was kind to you? I never teased you, did I?”

  Johan-bee didn’t answer.

  The steward turned to his master. “What will you do when you leave, Uwald?”

  “First I’ll go to Brunka Keld and—”

  “He’ll be helping on Zertrum.”

  Keld was the brunka on Svye Mountain, just to the south of Zertrum.

  “You’re right.”

  Elodie felt one of ITs Mmms bubble up. Master
Uwald hadn’t thought out what he’d do when he left here?

  He went on. “I’ll stop at the first cottage and tell them to go to Poldie.”

  Poldie was the brunka on Bisselberg, the mountain Elodie and her friends had passed on their way north.

  “He’ll come with bees who can search outside here and bring food. Then—”

  “High Brunka Marya already has bees looking outside,” Elodie broke in. “She said so. They’re also taking care of the dog who came with us.” You don’t have to go for that reason, she thought.

  Master Uwald said, “Oh?” and blinked. After a pause—for a moment too long—he added, “Excellent news.”

  Mmm.

  But Master Uwald couldn’t be the thief. He owned Nockess Farm on Zertrum.

  “Not excellent news for the thieves.” Mistress Sirka sounded amused.

  What if the outside bees had found it, Elodie thought, and run off with it? Even bees might be tempted.

  “Never mind,” Master Uwald said. “Poldie will bring more bees to help inside and out. Tuomo, I’ll go to Zertrum and see how bad it is at the farm. When I find your boys, I’ll send them here.”

  “Just send one. As soon as the mountain dies down, the others can get to work. But Johan-bee, I’m better suited to the task than Uwald.”

  “Only Master Uwald.” Johan-bee stepped away from the door.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Beating ITs wings frantically, IT managed to do what had to be done: keep ITs cargo on ITs back; not plummet; and gain altitude, although Master Erick felt as heavy as a boulder. When ITs flight steadied, IT flapped wearily south. Night had fallen—a charcoal, cloudy night. IT smelled more snow on the way.

  Goodman Hame was silent except for an occasional groan, but Master Erick complained with every breath: The air was foul. ITs flight was uneven. He had a delicate stomach. His bottom was too hot, his head too cold.

  IT was astonished he’d voice discontent to his bearer, who had only to tip a wing to drop him—which grew more tempting by the moment.

  “Where are you taking us?” Master Erick demanded.

  To the closest haven I can find in the dark, IT thought. But IT saved ITs breath and didn’t answer.