Island of Dragons (Unwanteds #7)(62)

“The shine has worn off,” said Florence. “You’re a has-been. Yesterday’s news—”

“All rrright, I get it,” said Simber, glaring at Florence.

Florence held her lips taut, not quite letting them curve up into a smile, and nodded in the direction of the front door. “Let’s go,” she said. “Back to work.” The mansion shuddered as another tar ball struck.

They went outside. Simber left the other two in front of the mansion and flew out to the ship.

“Hoist me up to the roof, will you?” asked Alex. “I want to give Mr. Appleblossom a rest.”

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” asked Florence. “We don’t need you falling off the roof to your death. That would just be embarrassing.”

“I’m fine. Rested, even. Honest.” It wasn’t quite true, but it was close enough.

Florence gave in. She lifted Alex up onto the roof and, after a bit of coaxing on Alex’s part, helped Mr. Appleblossom down to take a break. Alex sent him to the hospital ward to get his minor burns treated, and demanded he take a nap.

“Do we know what’s going on around the island?” Alex asked Florence as she handed him a bucket of water.

“Squirrelicorn updates came in from almost all the stations. Everybody is holding up all right, just continuing to put out fires. Aaron’s group has grown a bit over the course of the day. I guess some of the Wanteds and Necessaries whose homes were getting hit by tar balls decided they ought to pitch in and help.”

“They’re probably worried they’ll get stuck back in Artimé again if the island burns down,” muttered Alex. He stopped and stood up straight, and looked down at Florence as the whole ridiculous scenario of the attack played out before them. “What are we doing, Florence? Is this how it’s going to be? Endless flaming tar balls? Isn’t there anything else we can do?”

“Not unless they come ashore. We don’t have the boats to go fight them in the water. Our one ship isn’t making a dent—and if it were, they’d surround it and capture it. It’s definitely telling that they haven’t even tried to capture it—it means they find it insignificant enough to ignore.”

“But should we consider attacking from the air?”

“I’ve thought about that a lot,” said Florence, “and my conclusion is no. It’s easy enough for the pirates and Warblerans to hide from Simber and from any spells we cast from the air. They’d love for us to use up all our spell components without actually doing any harm to them. Add to that the risk of Simber having a wing broken off by a flaming tar ball, or the spell casters on his back being knocked down or shot with sleep darts and potentially captured . . . it’s too much risk, and for what gain? We take out a few of their fighters? In the end, it’s not worth it. I think our only move is to ride this out, Alex.”

Alex sighed. “I suppose you’re right. But it’s maddening.”

“That’s exactly what they’re counting on,” said Florence. “Warbler might not be made up of the best fighters, which is why they’ll keep them on the ships. But my guess is the pirates have done their fair share of fighting over the years. It’s in their blood. They’ve got a plan in place, I’m sure of it. And they’ll use it. Right now most of them are sleeping, and none of us are. That’s exactly what they want. They’re wearing us down.”

Alex looked up wearily when he heard another round of thwaps, and ducked as a tar ball flew over his head and hit the lawn. Two of Alex’s team members ran to extinguish it. “Unfortunately,” he said, “it’s working.”





A Long, Lonely Night


As the night passed, Alex sent out squirrelicorns to instruct the teams to take turns resting if possible. The flaming tar ball attacks continued, but their frequency slowed a bit. In between, Alex found himself dozing off on the mansion rooftop, dreaming about Sky and the times they’d sat on the roof of the gray shack. But Alex always woke alone to the sound of the catapults. He wondered how Sky was holding up across the island, putting out fires.

After a while Mr. Appleblossom returned to the roof and urged Alex to take a break, so Alex went inside the mansion and surveyed the mess from the broken windows. He tried to remember the broom spell that Lani had created, which would automatically sweep up the shards of glass that lined the walls. Eventually he gave up trying and found an actual broom. He began cleaning.

He stopped by the painted mural of Mr. Today on the doors that led to the hospital ward. The old mage would be horrified to see his beloved mansion in such a state. Windows blown out, tar balls littering the entryway. At least the mural hadn’t been damaged.

Alex’s eyes and nostrils burned from the smoldering tar odor that wouldn’t leave even after the flames had been extinguished. When he finished sweeping, he took the tube to the lounge to check on the Artiméans who weren’t fighting, and stood there in the dark for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the soft light. Most of the people were sleeping. Alex spied Crow on the floor between Thisbe and Fifer, all three asleep, Fifer’s thumb planted in her mouth. Alex stopped and watched them, then weaved his way to Earl, the lounge blackboard.

“Hello, Alex,” said Earl in a low voice. “I think we’re at capacity tonight. I haven’t been this popular in years. How are things?”