by Lisa McMann
The group of Artiméans began to explain to Simber everything that had happened. But before they could tell him much, Simber put a paw in the air to stop them. “Rrrememberrr, I worrrk forrr Frrrieda Stubbs now. You shouldn’t be telling me all of this.”
“Please,” said Florence with disgust. “She locked you in the theater on purpose, Sim.”
“She’s destroying the mansion,” Fifer said. “She trapped our friends in the remote rooms. Simber, she started a war against our own people!”
Sky’s eyes flashed. “How can you stay loyal to her? I can’t believe you’re saying this, Simber. I’m… Alex would be so disappointed in you.”
Simber turned sharply toward Sky, her words clearly cutting into him. “I was crrreated to be the helpmate of the head mage of Arrrtimé,” he growled. “That duty courrrses thrrrough me. I don’t have a choice.”
“Nonsense,” said Fifer angrily. “That’s not the only thing you’re made of. When Mr. Today created you, he infused so many good things into you. Courage, for one, and a sense of right and wrong. You can’t tell me that those things are less important than your duty to the head mage.”
“Besides,” Thisbe argued, “do you really think Mr. Today intended for you to be loyal to someone who is destroying the world he created to save Unwanted children? Be real, Simber.”
“The twins are right,” Florence said. “And if you don’t see that, or feel it inside, Simber, then I have lost all respect for you. You may as well go back inside that theater and wait for your new master to let you out.”
“Too bad Frieda doesn’t have the 3-D door anymore,” Fifer remarked. “You’ll be stuck in there for good.”
Simber began pacing, stewing over the words, and his low growl crescendoed into a frustrated roar. “You don’t underrrstand!” he said. “This isn’t something I can change. It’s the firrrst law of my existence! Therrre is no debating it!”
Fifer stepped forward and walked with him. “Simber,” she said softly. “Have you even tried to think of it a different way?”
“Yes, Simber,” said Thisbe, moving to stand with Florence. “You know in your heart, whether you admit it or not, that Frieda Stubbs isn’t the rightful mage. Only someone with Artimé’s best interests in mind should rule this world. That’s pretty basic. If Frieda keeps going, there won’t be anything left of it.” She paused. “I never knew Mr. Today, but I can’t imagine that he would want you to be loyal to anyone who wishes to destroy everything Artimé stands for.”
Florence closed her eyes and shook her head slightly. “The wisdom and maturity in these young women is the only thing keeping me from putting this door back up and shoving you back inside that theater right now, Simber. They’re being way more patient than I would be.”
Fifer couldn’t help glancing sidelong at Thisbe after Florence’s observation, but Thisbe pointedly didn’t look Fifer’s way and instead stayed laser focused on Simber. They may have been both making sense, but they were far from together on it.
Florence put her hands on her hips and stared at her friend. “Now, Simber. Where do you stand? After all of that, do you still declare your loyalty to Frieda Stubbs?”
Simber turned sharply and kept pacing. “I need to think!” he muttered.
Florence hesitated and glanced at Fifer, who nodded.
“Let’s give him a minute,” Fifer said. She retreated to allow the cheetah time without her breathing down his neck. Florence and Thisbe followed, and they all stood stonily and waited for the cheetah to come to his senses.
The agony on Simber’s face was clear. He had been governed by a strict set of rules from the moment Mr. Today brought him to life. Loyalty to the head mage was his strongest instinct. But it was true he’d been struggling with Frieda Stubbs ever since Aaron had handed the robe to her. She wasn’t a true head mage—her takeover had been manipulative and underhanded. And she didn’t have the good of Artimé in mind. Simber doubted that Marcus would have ever imagined such a situation in Artimé, but here they were. Still, a right-hand cheetah statue had to follow the rules that were instilled in him. Didn’t he? What would disappoint Marcus more?
Simber had already pushed the boundaries when he’d declared to Frieda that he wouldn’t hurt her Artiméan adversaries. He’d said it, then thought immediately that he’d gone a step too far. But who had truly put these strict rules in place? Marcus had never once lectured Simber about any of the cat’s duties. But he had come to him for advice from time to time. He’d trusted Simber’s competence in making wise and thoughtful decisions. He’d trusted his instincts and his ability to discern right from wrong. And his tendency to show compassion despite his gruff nature. Mr. Today had valued those traits in Simber, while never once demanding that Simber must be loyal to the head mage above all. It was just something Simber felt. Perhaps the severity of that rule had been self-imposed.
If Marcus were alive, what would he say to Simber right now? What would Alex say? Simber stopped pacing and dropped his gaze as shame filled him. Sky had said Alex would be disappointed. And he knew deep down that Sky was right. Admitting that stung the most out of all the arguments they’d made. Simber’s greatest fear was disappointing people who counted on him.
Artimé was counting on him now.
Simber closed his eyes as heartbreaking pain speared through him. Thinking about Marcus and Alex was almost too much for him to bear. He felt completely lost in his current position with Frieda Stubbs, which made the memories of his former mages all the more precious. It didn’t take much thinking to know what they would have him do right now.
But the fact was still true that Marcus, perhaps errantly, had instilled him with at least some sense of loyalty to the head mage. And that would be very hard for Simber to push aside. Could he do it?
His mind echoed the thought: Artimé was counting on him now.
He would have to use every bit of everything else Marcus had given him: Compassion. His sense of right and wrong. Kindness. And he must think of his loyalty as one to Artimé rather than some random person who undeservedly wore the robe of the head mage.
It would be a struggle. Simber’s mind turned to Drock the dark purple dragon. Drock was struggling in a similar way, he realized. Struggling to fight the call of evil. While Simber empathized with Drock, there was something comforting about having him as a kindred spirit. When everyone else was compromised, Drock had chosen the harder path, the more dangerous fight. He chose to struggle against the inner pull to join forces with the one who called on him.
But there was some relief in fighting too. Simber hadn’t felt comfortable with anything that had been happening. He knew what Frieda was doing was wrong in every way. He knew she would destroy Artimé. And he thought he had no choice but to go down with her. Loyal to the end. The way he was created.
Florence spoke near him. “You have the power inside you to override something if it turns out that it was a mistake,” she said softly. “Marcus would be so sad to see you struggling like this right now. He would have done anything he could to change it. What a weight it would be on his heart, that he was the cause of your pain in this terrible time.”
Simber turned his head. He’d been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t realized she’d come over to him. His best friend, Florence, showing him a path to ease his pain. A road out of this internal turmoil that should not have existed in the first place. He glanced at Fifer and Thisbe and sensed their pain with each other. What would Artimé be for them if he turned away now? Alex would be so disappointed.
Simber moved toward the girls, head bowed. Then he sank to his haunches and lifted his gaze, catching Fifer’s eye and holding it. He raised his paw, curled it into a fist, and tapped it against his stone chest. “I am with you,” he said.
Army of Large
In the Quillitary yard, with Simber solidly declaring his opposition to Frieda, Florence gathered everyone together to assess their strengths. They were a strange group: Simber with his large body and hu
ge wingspan, Florence standing miles above the rest. Two colossal ghost dragons. A queen with more weapons than Florence had ever seen anyone carry at one time. A tiny kitten. Fifer, Thisbe, Sky, and Rohan, plus their friends from Grimere, who all had varying amounts of dragon scales on their arms and legs, looked antlike in comparison to the dragons and statues. And young Ava and Lukas, miniature fighters growing hungry and cranky, forced to go along for the ride, for no one in the group could be spared to stay back and watch them.
Florence scratched her head as she surveyed them, trying to determine their best strategy.
“The pressure of time is on all of our minds when we think of our friends,” she said. “And that is the number one goal in what comes next. But I don’t think there’s a way to reach them without taking back control of the mansion. What’s the best way to do that? Swiftly and forcefully.” She turned to Maiven Taveer, eyeing her weapons belts again. “I assume you fight?”
“Yes, Captain Florence,” said Maiven, standing tall and gazing at the warrior trainer with grave respect.
“The others have had some sword training,” Thisbe told Florence. “And I’ve taught them a few basics in magic—glass, invisible hooks, the seek spell. But don’t forget we are all part dragon and can breathe fire. And our scales give us some measure of protection.”
“Not me, though,” Rohan chimed in, shoving his sleeves up and showing his bare arms. He’d removed all of his fake scales by now and was the most ordinary one of all of them by looks. “I haven’t taken in any of the dragon-bone broth. But I’ve had a bit more sword training than the others.”
“I’m impressed you’ve accomplished so much training in such a short time.” Florence checked the sun’s placement, which was fast approaching overhead. She wasn’t sure yet how this group was going to successfully form a cohesive army and take over the mansion. “I need some time to assess each new member of our team and think through our strategy,” she said. “We only have one chance to get this right. I know our friends are trapped, and those in the library will be feeling the discomfort of being without water by now. But if we fail in our takeover, they’ll never get out.” She hesitated, then continued. “If you’re willing, I’d like to give you a crash course in fighting defensively against mages. Maiven, will you and your team work with me? I assure you I have your safety in mind.”
“We’d be honored,” said Maiven. “That is why we came.” Rohan quickly translated Florence’s request to the others, and they eagerly stepped forward, in awe of the giant warrior.
“We’ll start by having you show me what your strengths are,” Florence said to them. “Please begin warming up while I talk to the Artiméans for a moment.”
The people from Grimere moved to an open area of the Quillitary grounds to prepare. Florence turned to address Thisbe, Fifer, Sky, and Simber. “You four… while I’m assessing the others, I’d like you to sneak into the mansion. I need some very specific books from the Museum of Large library.”
“Sneak in?” said Simber with a snort. “Me? How?”
Florence picked up one of the sacks of components that Sky had brought her from the previous trip. “Yes. You, Sky, and the twins will enter the mansion through Alex’s… um, I mean through the balcony off the head mage’s quarters. Get every book you can find on the mechanical workings of the mansion. We’re going to need them later. There are a couple of specific titles that you absolutely must find. I’ll write them down for you.” She took some of Fifer’s scrap paper and jotted down a few titles.
Fifer shifted uneasily. Earlier she hadn’t wanted to go into Alex’s apartment, but now it looked as though she wouldn’t have a choice. And she would do whatever she had to do to save the others. She steeled herself for it—this was too important a mission to let something like that prevent her from being her best.
But Simber was still puzzled. “How am I supposed to sneak in? I’m impossible to miss. You said they have guarrrds at everrry window. They’ll surrrely see us coming.”
Florence passed the sack of components to Fifer. “Invisibility paintbrushes,” she said. “Take extra with you for your return flight. There are plenty of those components in that bag, and that’s with assuming Simber will need three or four to completely cover him each time. We’ll have to work together to paint him quickly so the spell doesn’t wear off before you get there. You three can paint yourselves on the ride to save time.”
Simber wrinkled up his nose. He’d never been painted invisible before. And while most of the components weren’t strong enough to do him any harm because of his large size and makeup, this was a defense component no one had ever tried on him before. After a minute he shrugged. “Verrry well. It’s a good idea, Florrrence.”
“I know,” said Florence frostily. She gave him a side-eye and he snorted, and in that moment it seemed like their friendship was back to how it should be.
But Fifer and Thisbe’s wasn’t.
“Let’s go,” Fifer said, and Thisbe nodded tersely. There was no time to address their many issues, and frankly neither had the desire to do so—not with so many other people’s lives at stake. They needed to gear up for a most difficult battle. But would they be able to overcome their limited abilities and resources? Fifer and Thisbe didn’t need to be friendly to work together on this task. But they also knew that they could get everything right and still lose. The mansion, their friends… their homeland. When put that way, this situation wasn’t looking hopeful at all.
Back to the Drawing Board
In the library, Ms. Octavia worked while the others slept—they’d stayed up searching for information until exhaustion set in and they could only guess whether it was day or night, for there were no windows in the remote rooms to let sunlight in.
Octavia was making strides. Instead of drawing a 3-D door with all of its dings and grooves and swirly wood knots, she’d decided on something a bit simpler—the window in her classroom. Every year with the new Unwanteds she’d taught them the 3-D door process by starting with that window. And while few over the years had accomplished bringing the window to 3-D life, enabling them to crawl through it onto the lawn, Alex Stowe had done it in his first year. He’d gone on to develop his phenomenal drawing skills, using this same drafting table to create a door that led to his twin brother Aaron’s room in the university in Quill. That had caused a lot of problems, though, including exposing all of Artimé to the people who had sent the Unwanteds to their deaths. It wasn’t exactly Alex’s finest hour. But he’d turned out all right… and, in the end, so had Aaron. Octavia’s heartstrings tugged as she thought about Alex, her most prized student, and she moved away from the table just in time for a tear to splash on the rug instead of on her drawing. It was never easy seeing one of her protégés leave them too early.
These memories churned through Ms. Octavia’s mind as she sketched on the glass-top table. Gentle blue light shone up through it, creating a comforting glow and helping her make each stroke precise. This window was the octogator’s best shot at performing such a difficult task from memory. Any other attempt would be fruitless—there was just no way to memorize all the minute intricacies of any door and retain them. Not at her age, anyway.
By the time Aaron got up to check on her progress, she had the window outline done.
“It looks great,” said Aaron. “I’m amazed by your talent. I wish I could do it.”
“Do what? Make a 3-D window?”
“Or simply draw anything.”
Ms. Octavia looked at him. “Have you ever tried?”
“A few times. I wish… I wish I’d gotten the instruction that everyone else received.”
“You’re free to attend my classes anytime, Aaron. I’d say you developed your creative abilities quite well, though. You designed Lani’s wheeled device. Fixed the tube on the Island of Shipwrecks. And built numerous constructions in Quill back when…”
“Back when you were evil,” said Samheed from the darkness. Yawning, he emerged from between som
e shelves and ran his fingers through his hair to tame it. “How’s it going, Octavia?”
Ms. Octavia raised an eyebrow at Samheed and didn’t answer; her disapproval was evident.
“Sorry,” Samheed muttered. “I’m just cranky because there’s nothing to drink. Does anybody know the proper magic to build a water fountain? Claire has done it before, but I never paid attention.”
“My skin is cracking from being out of the water for so long,” Ms. Octavia admitted. “I’ve got seaweed dust flaking onto my drawing.” She blew it off carefully. Though the octogator could survive without ever being in the water, she still went for a dip a couple of times a day to keep her skin moist. “To answer your question, I know how to do it. But we don’t have the necessary components.”
“What do we need?” asked Aaron.
“A few drops of freshwater, for one. It takes water to make water. And a structural element, like a basin component. We don’t make them in bulk because they’re rarely used.”
“Do you happen to have any with you?” Samheed asked her.
“Again, rarely used. I don’t clutter my pockets with such things unless I’m going on a journey, unfortunately.”
“That should change,” Aaron muttered. “Water is essential for humans. It’s when we’re totally without it that it’s most necessary.”
“That’s obvious,” Samheed remarked snidely.
Aaron ignored him. “Every human should learn the spell and carry one of the components with them.”
“Florence doesn’t need water, so maybe making extra components or teaching that spell wasn’t high on her list,” said Samheed.
“Water is also plentiful in Artimé,” added Ms. Octavia, shooing the young men away from her table and going back to her sketch. “When we’re not stuck in the library, that is. Who would have thought we’d be in need of it right here in our own mansion? And neither of you brought a canteen?”
