Stolen Magic(21)

The hunter’s knees buckled, and he fainted.

“May I borrow your cloak?” His Lordship rolled the man over gently. Poor-quality wool, but it would have to do. “I’ll pay for the garment.” He tied the cloak around his waist. Then he cleaned his puncture wound with a handful of snow. The cold stung. His shoulder ached.

What to do? The arrow had dropped the swift. If he shifted back, he wouldn’t be able to fly.

Elodie and Meenore needed to know that a man called Dror had been as good as forced to become a bee, and that someone named Tuomo and his sons, and someone named Uwald, had left the mountain.

If he walked, the snow wouldn’t slow him greatly. The cold posed a greater danger. At best, he’d be several days getting back to the Oase. Fee fi! He was failing his friends.

He started down the mountain and stumbled out of weariness and pain. Before anything, he had to rest. He scanned the way below, but a forest blocked his view. Boulders dotted the slope above, as if a giant (much bigger than himself) had smashed a cliff and scattered the debris.

A mink stood in the shadow of a boulder, sniffing the air. This animal at least he could save. He crouched and held out his hand.

A minute later, the mink was in it. He placed the creature on his shoulder and thought, I have room for more.

Sleep first.

Between himself and the forest, three boulders leaned against one another, forming a three-sided recess that would protect him from the wind. He curled up inside, with the mink tucked between his neck and his shoulder, each giving a little warmth to the other.

He hoped that Elodie and Meenore were discovering on their own what he’d learned and that both were safe. But his last thought, before diving into a dream of snow and ice, was for Nesspa.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN



Master Robbie led Elodie down the same corridor she’d walked earlier with the high brunka. As the air warmed, both removed their cloaks and gloves.

“A dragon brought you here?” Master Robbie asked. “On ITs back?”

“In an oxcart. The oxen pulled IT and me.”

“Oh.” He sounded disappointed.

A dragon wasn’t enough? She had to be flying, too? “With an ogre.” Why did she want to astonish him?

To distract him from his sadness?

To boast?

She shouldn’t have mentioned His Lordship.

“Whales and porpoises!”

She smiled. “Yes.”

“Where is he?”

Too late not to say. “He shape-shifted into a bird. He’s the one who’s warning the brunka on Zertrum. Then he’s coming back here.” Soon, she hoped. “His dog is in the stable.”

“Are you afraid of him?”

“The dog or the ogre?”

He grinned. “Not the dog.”

She grinned, too. “His Lordship is kinder than anyone I know. He hates when people fear him.”

“His Lordship?” Master Robbie radiated disbelief.

“Count Jonty Um. You’ll see. He’ll tell us how things stand on Zertrum.”

At the corridor that led to the high brunka’s chamber, they turned left instead of right.

“Er . . . who do you think took the Replica? You know them all.”

“No, I don’t. I’m not sure I’ve even seen every single bee.”

“Then among the ones you know, bees and guests.”

He stopped walking and frowned at her. “You want me to accuse someone?”

She felt a rush of shame. “No. . . .” Defiance came next. “Yes. . . . Someone did it.” Should she tell him she was ITs assistant?

“Who do you think?”

“I just got here!”

“Arriving right after the high brunka found out it was missing.”

Did he suspect her?

She said, “I suspect everyone.”

“Me?”

She smiled mysteriously. “Everyone.” But she didn’t, or didn’t much. After all, he caused the theft to be discovered.

“Here we are.”

The words Squirrel Room as well as a plump squirrel had been painted on the door, which Master Robbie pushed open. They entered a low chamber, roughly circular, lit by glowworms and cozily warm, as the corridor had been. Elodie yawned, because of the warmth and the night without sleep.

Except for four small tables, which stood apart and leaned crookedly on the uneven stone floor, the Squirrel Room was unfurnished. Atop each of three tables rested a wooden box—pale wood with flecks of paint clinging to the grain, as if they had been painted an eternity ago. The fourth table held nothing.

“Is that what’s missing? A box?”

He nodded.

“Do you know what was in it?”

“First look in the ones that are here.”

She went to the nearest table.

“No. That one first.” He pointed.

She went to that table. “Open it?”

He nodded.

It was the width and length of her forearm, adequate to hold the Replica. Could it be in here, and he’d known all along? His face was happy, as if something lovely were about to happen.

What would he think lovely?

Uneasily, she imagined opening the box and finding a dreadful surprise, like a scorpion. The lid was hinged and fastened with a tiny hook. She nudged the hook aside. Nothing happened. She lifted the lid. Inside lay a shriveled-up daffodil.