“I have no wish to harm you, but the castle has been breached,” Bryce said, wielding his own sword. “Now step away.”
Everett stole a glance back at Avery and the Dvergar. They had snuck by Tullian, but they would be spotted as soon as Bittenbender shoved the prince into the moat. But Everett couldn’t stop what Bittenbender was doing; he had to get Ben through the passage before the portcullises came down.
Ben was shaking, both of his hands tight on the hilt of his sword, but he stood his ground. Everett inched closer. What could he do? He was already halfway out, and if he went to help Ben—
But he had to. With a great yell, he darted forward, praying the element of surprise would gain them a moment; he grabbed Ben’s hand and pulled him toward the murder hole. The knight raised an ax to the winch.
Ben slid through just as the inner portcullis crashed down.
“Whew, that was—” he started to say.
Everett tugged on him again. He knew what would happen next: Bryce would lower the second portcullis and trap them in the murder hole.
Everett heard the crack as the ax fell on the chain.
The iron grill above them released.
He yanked Ben’s left arm, the right one flailing.
The grill fell, and one of the points clanged against Ben’s sword blade.
“Leave it,” Everett said just as Tullian and Gervase looked up in surprise.
“My lord! His Highness!” cried Gervase as Bittenbender shoved the prince into the water. Everett jumped in after him, then remembered, even before Ben said it.
“I can’t—”
“Come on!” Everett cried.
Ben scooted closer to the edge of the moat. Gervase had already dived in after Avery, and Tullian was running toward Ben now, his sword over his head.
Which may have been the motivating factor.
Ben jumped.
Everett, treading water, scooped him up by the shirt collar. Ben gasped, his arms whipping back and forth in the air. “Ben, it’s okay,” Everett said desperately; “just hold on to my satchel. I’ll get us across.”
It was like the old fable of the scorpion riding on the frog’s back. Ben clung to his shoulders with both hands. The moat was only twenty feet across, but Everett couldn’t make any headway. He fought to keep his head above the surface. Ben yanked at Everett’s sleeve, and pulled something free. Everett turned to see a red scarf drift across the water.
The lady’s favor. And with it, the wand he had taken from Avery.
Everett made a mighty grasp for it, but the wand sank out of his reach, pulling the red scarf with it. He dove after it.
Everett strained to see, but the water was black. He heard Ben cry out in a muffled tone, and he panicked. Ben was sucking in water. He grasped Ben’s collar and hauled him to the surface.
The scene was even more chaotic now. Knights with torches darted back and forth, throwing reflections off the water, which churned like a stormy sea between Ben’s thrashing arms and the knights struggling to rescue Avery. The bank looked miles away; Everett hollered as Ben pulled him under again.
A swift kick cracked his shin; it was Avery, he thought, for Ben was on his other side. Everett pushed Ben away to get to the bottom; his best bet, he thought, was to kick off and propel them both to the surface. But even underwater, Ben was fighting him, and Everett couldn’t hold his breath any longer; his lungs were burning.
In horribly slow motion, they sank. Everett kicked, but not with the strength he’d envisioned. Everything was so heavy—his legs, his satchel, Ben’s body, which had gone alarmingly still. The locket around Everett’s neck floated in front of his face.
Strange colored spots, like miniature fireworks, appeared behind Everett’s closed eyelids; or were his eyes open? He wasn’t sure anymore. He wasn’t trying to breathe. He had given up breathing.
They drifted.
Then, deep beneath the moat’s muddy bottom, the earth trembled.
It reminded Everett of something—what? His mind drifted back to the forest in Hawkesbury, to the oak tree that had split apart as if in an earthquake. Maybe if he died here, he’d wind up back in that wood; he’d be home. And after a long, tired walk, he’d enter his own front room on Clement Lane, where his mother would be making tea. . . .
His shin ached where someone had kicked it.
His whole body ached. Someone had yanked him away from his mum’s kitchen and thrown him onto a hard, splintery surface, when all he wanted was to go back home.
And someone was shouting, almost nonstop.
“Thar’s three of ’em, are ye blind? Pike, cut the sails! Hove to! Hove to! Mind the trees, or I’ll lash ye to the foreyard! Now starboard two points, lads! Oggler, see to the prisoners, yeh feckless rogue!”
Then he heard gasps and coughs to either side of him before a broad hand came down on his own chest and pumped it. A rush of water shot up through his throat, along with the sour remains of whatever had last been in his stomach. He flipped over like a fish and threw up on the surface of . . . something.
Finally he coughed, gasping, thinking it felt better to drown than to be saved, and he opened his eyes.
He was . . . couldn’t be. On the deck of a ship?
Next to him lay Ben, spluttering as well, and Avery, on his other side. Leaning over them, then stepping nimbly away from the vomit, was a burly man with a black eye patch slung across his bearded face. He wore baggy trousers and a voluminous shirt, stained all over with sweat and the leavings from a late supper. He regarded them with one roving green eye, keeping his balance as the ship creaked from side to side.
“Where . . .” Everett managed to say. How long had he been unconscious, that he’d been kidnapped to sea?
Avery sat up on trembling elbows and pointed to the sky. “Look there, Sir Everett! ’Tis not the sea at all!”
As Everett followed his shaking finger, he nearly passed out again. They were sailing, all right—two masts loomed above them in the black sky, with lanterns swinging from their crossbeams—but there was no water.
They were sailing through the wood.
Chapter 24
* * *
The Lost Boys
For all Holly knew, the boys had been captured by now, and she doubted they had found the nautical maps the prince had promised. She had managed to bring everyone back to the Elm safely, if a bit clumsily. As if Grandor’s appearance were just an annoying interruption, she drew her wand again and had the others gather around her. The Dvergar grabbed hold of the arm she laid gently across Ranulf’s back, and Jade huddled close to her as she gathered strength for the Vanishment spell. With a single word, she transported them.
“Imigh!”
It wasn’t an especially graceful bit of magic. The mist that sprang up around them was sharp and cold, and when it cleared, they tumbled in a heap in a patch of mud just inside the Elm’s clearing. But they had arrived. She had managed that much.
Jade shook his coat in front of a small campfire burning next to the cottage. “The number of times I have had a bath this week,” he grumbled. “It almost makes one grateful for rain.”
But Wiggers only shook his wet hair and brushed off the worst of the mud. “We Dvergar ne’er mind the glaur,” he said, smiling at Holly. He grasped her hand in both of his. “All thanks, milady. We won’t soon forget it, and I’ll be tellin’ Bittenbender so myself.” He beckoned to Onck and Kepswich. “Come along, lads. The missus’ll have bree and tea on the hob.”
With that, the little men disappeared into the wood.
A moment later Almaric burst out of the cottage carrying a large pot and a long-handled ladle. He greeted Holly hastily but did not even inquire about the others. He set the pot over the fire and brought Ranulf over to it. The centaur seized the ladle with both hands and gulped from it, after which the magician filled a wooden bowl. Ranulf drank down the lot.
Holly winced again at his bruised body. “Is . . . is he going to be all right, Almaric?”
/> “Right as rain by morning, Lady Holly, you’ll see. I’ve brewed several infusions that will fix him straightaway.”
“My thanks, Lord Magician,” said the centaur, looking up at last.
“Not at all. But . . .” Finally Almaric glanced about. “Where are the others? Not captured, surely?”
“Not exactly,” said Holly. “It’s a long story.”
“Another time, then,” said the old man. “Forgive me—I must tend to Ranulf.” And with that, he led the centaur around the back of the Elm to the little shed where Holly had bathed earlier.
“Come, my lady,” said Jade, walking to the cottage door. “Out of the rain.”
For it had started again.
The cottage was dark; the sea hag had disappeared. Holly lit a lantern as Jade settled on the hearth and commenced his bath. With very little effort his coat was dry and shiny again. Holly sat nearby with a cup of tea she’d made from an almost-cold kettle.
“Perhaps a rest,” the cat suggested as she stared at the dwindling flames.
“I won’t be able to sleep until the boys are safe,” she said. “I can’t believe I let them go ahead with their stupid plan. Now Avery’s probably got them locked up somewhere, and I’ll have to find a way to rescue them. Again.”
Jade regarded her with steady green eyes, looking for all the world like an ordinary cat.
“At least they weren’t there to see what happened with Grandor. Or what didn’t happen, more like. I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t shoot, couldn’t do a spell, couldn’t make the wand work—I should’ve gotten us out of there right away, but I’m so . . . so . . .”
“Untrained,” the cat finished.
“I was going to say lame.”
Jade glanced at her feet.
“It’s an expression,” Holly said, rolling her eyes.
Jade resettled himself. “One task of a familiar is to serve as an Adept’s mirror. An aid in seeing your true self.”
“You mean my true lame self?” Holly kicked at the braided rug beneath Almaric’s table.
“If it be so.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Lady Holly, you must look at your situation honestly if you are to learn from it. I will not deny your performance was less than impressive. You were not able to keep the group together. You did not fully harness the wand’s power—”
“I know.”
“But you were successful. Your aim was to rescue Ranulf and the Dvergar. This you have accomplished.”
Holly’s spirits lifted a little. Getting Ranulf out of the castle was the brightest spot of the whole experience.
“And you were able to perform the Vanishment, which is an advanced spell. You have learnt well.”
“But I’ve hardly learned anything. I didn’t know any kind of spell to use on Grandor. Yelling didn’t do much good.”
“At times an Adept’s emotional state can call up heretofore unknown spells or talents. You saw this at the Battle of Midsummer.”
“But why couldn’t I do that tonight? You’ve known Adepts before, Jade. What am I doing wrong?”
“You are doing for yourself,” said the cat, “and thus have no way of correcting your mistakes. I can only guide you; I cannot teach the craft. You need to apprentice.”
“But there’s no one to teach me.”
It was a lonely feeling, one she hadn’t felt as keenly before. As much as the others wanted to help her, they couldn’t. The Adepts themselves were lost in exile; even their writings had been destroyed. Everyone expected amazing things from her, but what good was having power that she couldn’t access or control?
“What are we going to do about the boys, Jade?” she said at last, toying with the wand in her lap. “How will we find them?”
The moment she spoke, a great cracking noise, like a giant breaking walnuts, resounded through the cottage. Holly and Jade exchanged a puzzled look, then ran outside.
Several of the trees around the clearing had broken off at their stumps, lying like huge jackstraws in the dark, damp forest. Almaric was standing on the edge of the mess, arguing furiously with someone. An enormous dark bulk loomed behind them, but Holly couldn’t make out what it was, nor who Almaric was yelling at. But a moment later the figure gently put aside the old magician and walked toward her, dragging a few other, shorter people. Holly peered into the blackness. Just then the moon shifted out of the clouds and lit up the glade.
It was a tall, slender man, dressed in a long, fitted coat with flared sleeves and waist. He wore breeches and high boots, and beneath the coat, a white shirt strung across with a cutlass and all manner of scabbards. Beneath his tricornered hat flowed a mass of long black curls. He shoved his charges into the moonlight and grinned at her. Everett and Ben, along with the prince, tumbled out of his grasp onto the damp ground.
“There, Lady Adept. Mayhap these be the lads ye’re askin’ after?” called the young man.
No, not man, Holly thought, unable to speak. Pirate.
Chapter 25
* * *
Words with a Pirate
Holly sat in the warmth of Almaric’s now quite crowded sitting room, listening to the boys explain what had just happened to them. Gathered around the hearth with her and Jade were the old magician, the young pirate, and the three boys. She jumped up when they had finished talking and ran to the window, through which she could just glimpse the looming shape that sat at the edge of the glade. “You mean that”—she turned back to the pirate—“is a boat?”
“Did ye, or did ye not, call up the sea witch?” said the captain.
“Yes, ah . . .” Almaric stuttered a bit. “I suppose we did, yes.”
“Then ye’ve no cause to complain when she shows.”
Holly was confused. “But where is she?”
“That be the Sea Witch, past yon oak tree,” said the pirate proudly.
“It is the ship, my lady,” Almaric explained.
“We conjured that?” Ben said. “Cool!”
Almaric hastened to explain to the captain that it was the sea hag who had done the conjuring, and they certainly hadn’t expected the ship to appear in the forest, knocking down trees left and right.
The pirate held out a leathery hand to Holly. His fingers were joined with a transparent webbing, like a frog’s. “Morgan, captain of the Sea Witch.”
“So you came up out of the moat?” Ben said, breathless. If Holly hadn’t known better, she’d have thought he had opened a brand-new version of Planeterra Six.
“Aye, lad,” said Morgan. He tapped the mug that Almaric had given him, and the magician gave him a sour look before fetching whatever it was that he wanted. “We came as summoned. When we saw men overboard, Oggler hauled ye three on deck.”
“That moat can’t be more than five meters deep,” Everett said, sounding confused.
“Oh, Ev, it’s not a regular boat, is it, Captain?” said Ben, as if he knew all about it.
“The Sea Witch is like no other.”
Holly tried to picture it: The great ship rising out of the moat, throwing spray onto the castle gatehouse as the knights scrambled out of the way. And now they were stuck with Avery, who sat staring at the floor. His blond hair had started to dry in the warmth of the hearth and was curling at the edges. Why had the boys brought him along?
“Well?” Holly nudged him. “What happened to Bittenbender and Swikehard?” She felt a sudden surge of loyalty to the Dvergar. She didn’t really like them, but at least they weren’t one of the enemy.
The prince made an attempt at a withering stare. “I see no cause to speak with thee.”
“I seen the Dvergar, if that’s who ye mean,” the pirate cut in. “Just as we surfaced, the little rogues gained the shore and ran off into the wood. Fine friends, them.”
“A friend to the Adept, perhaps,” said Avery.
Almaric gave the prince a stern look. “I think it in your best interest to treat Her Ladyship with due respect, Your Highness.”
&nb
sp; “Yer Highness?” The captain gave a low whistle. “So that’s who we’ve captured, eh? Ye’ll be greeting the dawn from the yardarm, laddie, if any of the crew find out.”
“They just left you there to drown,” Holly muttered. Another picture formed in Holly’s mind: Ben flailing in the water while the Dvergar fled through the trees. “If I ever see them again . . .” She couldn’t steady her voice. She wanted very much to have Bittenbender in front of her, to see what the wand could do to him.
“Hardly men of honor,” Avery confirmed.
“What d’you expect?” Ben said. “You’ve enslaved and slaughtered their people. They’re hardly going to be your best friends.”
“It’s not as if you haven’t betrayed us before,” Everett added.
“Thine own magic proved false enough,” Avery shot back.
“Hey, we were ready to take you back to our world last year!”
“Be silent, squire!”
“I’m not your squire anymore, and anyway, I was Everett’s.”
A burst of orange flame shot up through the roof of the cottage, sending little cinders of thatch floating to the floor. Everyone stopped talking and stared at Holly, who gave Áedán a little pat before letting him crawl back onto her shoulder.
“I want to see the nautical maps.” She looked pointedly at Everett, fearing the answer. “You do have them, right?”
Everett’s satchel was sopping wet, but at least it was mostly waterproof. The sheets of parchment were just a little damp. Holly unrolled them and spread them out on Almaric’s low table.
“That be no sea chart,” said Morgan in a low voice, glancing at Holly.
He was right. The first in the stack was a land map of Anglielle, and many of the rest were dull: Some showed tenant farmers’ borders, the locations of prime water sources, and surveys of hunting lands. But finally, in the middle of the stack, Morgan put a grimy webbed index finger on the parchment. “Drown and sink me if that not be a proper sea chart.”
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