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by Sarah Prineas

  “This it?” the swift Sootle asked. He carried a knapsack.

  I didn’t answer.

  My men will go with you, Crowe had said. They will be listening, and they will know if you give the wizard some kind of signal. Get in, do the job, and get out. The dragon pays for any misstep on your part. Understand?

  I understood. I wouldn’t try anything. I would do the job and I would go straight back to the house, back to Pip.

  Still, Crowe hadn’t won yet. If the mudlarks had delivered my message to Nevery, he’d know something was wrong, that I’d written the note asking him to meet me here because Crowe had his hooks in me. He’d be careful.

  But if the mudlark Den hadn’t delivered the message yet, Nevery’d be walking right into a trap.

  Across the street, the windows of the chophouse glowed dimly. The cobblestones gleamed, wet with the day’s rain. Fog lingered along the edges of the falling-down buildings. My sweater was still damp from my dunking in the river, and I shivered. Nevery might wait for me in the chophouse for a long time.

  The chophouse door swung open. Somebody stepped out into the street.

  “That him?” whispered the swift named Drury, who loomed beside me.

  I shook my head.

  After a while, a group of factory workers coming late off a shift trooped past. They didn’t see us where we lurked in our dark alleyway. The street fell quiet again.

  At last, the dim light in the chophouse went out. The door swung open and a dark figure stepped out.

  Nevery.

  He paused and adjusted his hat, then, without a backward glance, set off toward the river, his cane going tap, tap against the cobblestones.

  Taking a shaky breath, I left the shadows of the alley and went after Nevery on feather-light feet, following him down the dark, steep street.

  One thing a good pickpocket learns is tells, which is when people tell where they’re keeping something valuable. They don’t mean to tell, but they almost always do something to give it away.

  Nevery usually kept his locus magicalicus in his cloak pocket, but when he’d stepped out the chophouse door, I’d seen his tell—he checked the breast pocket of his suit coat, patting it with his hand before he went on. He probably thought he’d put it there for safekeeping.

  It wasn’t safe from me, though.

  As he turned off of Strangle Street, I darted up beside him, no more than a shadow in the night, dipped into his suit pocket and—quick hands—snatched up his locus magicalicus.

  He missed it at once and whirled, his cloak swirling around him.

  I ducked away, but not fast enough. He saw me.

  Sorry, Nevery. Sorry.

  “Connwaer!” he shouted, and I was gone, melting into the shadows.

  I heard the step step tap of him coming after me, and then I slipped into the alley where Sootle waited with his knapsack. He pulled out the tiny tourmalifine cage and I dropped the locus magicalicus into it. He snapped it closed. There. Nevery wouldn’t be able to sense where it was. To him, the stone had just disappeared.

  My eyes blindfolded again, I climbed the stairs with a swift ahead of me and one just behind with his hand on my shoulder. They marched me up to the attic and took off the blindfold.

  “Back in the cage,” Drury said, giving me a push.

  Not yet. I stumbled to the table and bent to look into Pip’s cage. The little dragon lay on its side, panting a little. Its scales had turned dusty-dull. “Will you put it in with me?” I asked. Pip might do better if its slowsilver scales weren’t touching the tourmalifine wires.

  The room’s door opened and Crowe came in. He saw me. “Put him back in the cage,” he said sharply.

  Sootle touched a keystone to the side of the big cage and it swung open. Drury grabbed me by the scruff and shoved me inside. He closed the door behind me, sealing the cage, shutting me away from the magics again.

  Crowe came farther into the room. “You have it?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Sootle said, and pulled the tiny tourmalifine cage from the knapsack.

  Nevery’s locus magicalicus lay inside, a small stone so dark it was like a bit of swirling night against the glimmering green wires.

  Crowe turned the box, examining the stone inside, and then set it on the table. “Good,” he said. “Now for the last magister’s locus stone.”

  For once, Crowe had counted wrong. “You’ve got Nevery’s,” I said. “That’s all of them.”

  “No it isn’t,” Crowe said, his voice cold and quiet. “There is one more. You’re a magister too, Nephew. The ducal magister. Had you forgotten?”

  What? “But my locus stone is in Pip.”

  “Yes,” Crowe said. “That is a well-known fact.” He turned away from my cage and spoke to the swift. “Take the dragon out.”

  Sootle took a pair of leather gloves from his coat pocket and put them on. Then he touched the keystone to the side of Pip’s cage and it opened, and he reached in and pulled Pip out. Pip shivered, but didn’t fight. The dragon looked very small in Sootle’s gloved hands.

  “Do it,” Crowe ordered.

  With a quick glance at me, Sootle reached into his pocket and pulled out the long, thin-bladed knife.

  What? “But I did the job!” I gasped out. “You said you wouldn’t hurt Pip.”

  “So I did.” Crowe turned away. “Get on with it,” he ordered. “Cut the locus stone out of the dragon.”

  Pip! I flung myself against the wire mesh and the cage rocked. No, no, no!

  Frowning, Sootle brought the knife up to Pip’s chest and glanced at Crowe, who nodded.

  A quick thrust, and the knife plunged into Pip, right up to the hilt. My own heart shuddered and shattered into a thousand pieces.

  In the swift’s hands, Pip twitched and went limp. Sootle let go and Pip’s body tumbled to the floor.

  CHAPTER

  22

  I crouched with my forehead pushed up against the cold wires of my cage.

  Pip’s body lay crumpled on the floor, just beyond the reach of my fingers. It lay on its side, one wing crushed beneath it, the knife hilt sticking out of its chest. In a moment, Sootle would come and cut my locus stone out of Pip’s body so Crowe could use it for whatever he was planning.

  Crowe, his back to me, was talking to the swifts, giving them more orders, but the words didn’t make sense, they just sounded like a roaring in my ears. I felt stiff and heavy and numb. I’d been stupid. I should’ve known better than to steal Nevery’s locus stone for Crowe. And now Pip was dead. Dead.

  Pip’s body shivered.

  I blinked. Had I imagined it? I scrubbed a hand across my eyes and then gripped the wires of my cage, straining to see better.

  Pip’s wing stretched. Its ember-bright eyes blinked open. It shook its head and then scrambled onto its claw-paws and looked around, its tail twitching.

  “Pip?” I breathed.

  The knife hilt stuck in its chest quivered and then clattered to the floor.

  At the sound, Crowe turned. He looked at me, then down at Pip, on the floor. His eyes narrowed, and he flinched back. “The dragon is alive,” he spat out.

  Oh, how could I have been so stupid? Of course Pip was alive! It wasn’t made of flesh and blood and bone like a person or an animal. It was made of magic! A knife couldn’t kill it.

  Sootle, still wearing his gloves, lunged after Pip, and the little dragon leaped backward, snarling.

  “Catch it!” Crowe ordered. Sootle lunged again. The other swift picked up the small tourmalifine cage.

  “Get out of here, Pip!” I shouted, jumping to my feet in my cage. Then I shouted it again in the dragon language.

  With both swifts grabbing after it, Pip scrambled under the table and then crawled straight up the wall and crouched at the edge of the ceiling, snarling and lashing its tail. Sootle charged after it.

  “Go!” I shouted again, then in the dragon language, “Valaré!”

  Pip leaped, opening its wings, and like a flamin
g spear it shot across the room and blasted through one of the windows. Out into the night the dragon flew, trailing sparks and shattered glass.

  After cursing at the swifts for letting Pip escape, Crowe and Nimble went out, muttering to each other, making new plans. They left Sootle on guard by the door. He had a werelight lantern turned low and the smaller tourmalifine cage on the floor next to his chair. Waiting to catch Pip in case the little dragon came back, I guessed.

  I’d been stupid to think Crowe would keep a promise, but I wouldn’t be stupid again. I’d fight him with everything I had.

  From inside the cage there wasn’t much I could do except try to escape and keep an eye on what was going on outside. This I could do with the seeing-and-hearing spell. It might work, even from inside the cage, even without me touching Pip. I’d cast the spell before the magics had settled, so it had effected with such power that all I had to do was say Pip’s true name, and the spell should effect again.

  I crouched in my cage, feeling the cold from the wires seeping up through my bare feet, and a chilly wind blowing in from the window Pip had smashed. I closed my eyes, concentrating.

  “Tallennar,” I whispered.

  I blinked, but nothing had changed; I pricked my ears, but I still heard as a boy, not a dragon.

  Try again. I stood up, facing the broken window, pressing my face up against the wire mesh of the cage. “Tallennar!” I shouted. My voice echoed in the attic room.

  By the door, Sootle lifted his head, but he didn’t get up. “Be quiet, charboy,” he said.

  I closed my eyes and felt the spell click into place.

  When I cracked them open again, my Pip-eyes saw a dark rooftop and chimneys edged with a line of flickering flame and, far below, a courtyard and . . . something dark and ruffled. Was that water?

  Wait. I knew where we were. Nimble’s house on one of the magister’s islands in the river. I could throw a stone from here and hit Heartsease, just about. Pip was outside, perched on the edge of a chimney. “Pip!” I called softly.

  My Pip-ears heard my own voice leaking out from the smashed-open attic window. They also heard Sootle get up from his creaky chair and take a few steps toward my cage. “What’re you up to?” the swift asked.

  Keeping my eyes closed, I crouched in a corner of the cage. “Nothing,” I answered him.

  “Hmph,” he snorted, and went back to his chair and sat down.

  “Go to Nevery, Pip,” I whispered. “Nevery Flinglas at Heartsease.” Sure as sure, Nevery was furious with me for stealing his locus stone, but if he saw Pip he’d know I was in trouble.

  Pip crawled along the edge of the roof, then launched itself into the sky. My vision spiraled, and flame-edged chimneys and the roof flashed by, then, below, the river, dark and flowing, and then Heartsease loomed up. Pip shot past the big tree in the courtyard. Lights shone from the kitchen windows and upstairs, from Nevery’s study and workroom. Pip swooped over the courtyard cobblestones and up the outside wall of Heartsease and landed, clinging to the bricks. The window glowed just above it. Pip crawled up the wall and peered in, pressing its snout against the window glass.

  Inside, a fire burned in the hearth. Nevery’s hat, cloak, and cane had been tossed in a heap on his chair. Nevery himself, dark and tall in his black suit, stood before the hearth. Benet waited by the door, his burly arms folded across his chest.

  “—if you say so, sir,” Benet was saying. To Pip’s keen ears, his voice sounded loud, even from outside the closed window.

  “I do say so,” Nevery snapped. “And bring up some tea. I’ll have the note ready in a moment.”

  Benet went out. Nevery paced before the fire, frowning and pulling at the end of his beard. “Curse it, Connwaer,” he muttered. “What are you up to?” He went to the table, cleared off his chair, pushing everything onto the floor, and sat down to dash out a note.

  Benet came in with a pot of tea, cups, honey, and a plate of biscuits on a tray, which he set on the table.

  “Ah, good,” Nevery said. He handed Benet the note. “To Brumbee, as I said. Bring him and his apprentice straight here, no arguments.”

  “Yes, sir,” Benet said. He headed for the door. Then he paused.

  “What is it?” Nevery said.

  “You think he’s all right?” Benet asked.

  “I think he’s gotten himself into trouble, as usual,” Nevery growled.

  “Must’ve had a reason—” Benet started.

  “Yes, I know, Benet,” Nevery said. “To you he can do no wrong. But he’s stolen my locus magicalicus. A serious problem, I hope you agree.”

  Benet nodded. “Yes, sir.” He didn’t move from the doorway. “D’you miss him, sir?”

  Nevery got up from the table, still looking cross. “Yes, of course I do.” Then my Pip-ears heard him mutter something into his beard that sounded like stupid question.

  “He might not know it,” Benet said.

  “What?” Nevery asked.

  “Did you ever tell him?”

  Nevery stared at Benet, who stood stubbornly in the doorway with his burly arms folded. After a moment, Nevery spoke. “If we’re going to get the boy back”—he stopped to clear his throat—“back home, we don’t have any time to waste. Go and deliver the message to the duchess.”

  With a glower, Benet turned and stalked out of the room. “Idiots, the both of you,” my Pip-ears heard him say as he hurried down the stairs.

  CHAPTER

  23

  My Pip-ears heard Benet slam the door to Heartsease and hurry across the cobbled courtyard.

  Nevery’s tea and biscuits got cold while he paced. He hadn’t gotten the message from the mudlark Den, that was clear as clear. He didn’t know what I was up to, or that I needed his help, and he had no way to find me.

  I’m sorry, Nevery, I wanted to say. For stealing his locus magicalicus. I knew how empty he was feeling without his locus stone and his connection to the magics. Knowing he was angry with me made me feel even more shivery cold.

  After a while Nevery fetched his grimoire down from a shelf and put it on his worktable; then he brought out a scrying globe and polished it with a scrap of wormsilk cloth while he read something from the book.

  What was he doing? It looked like he was getting things ready for the anstriker spell. But he didn’t have a locus stone, so he couldn’t do any magic. Even if he had his stone the spell wouldn’t work, not with me shut into the tourmalifine cage.

  Carefully Nevery set down the globe and found a shallow bowl. From a shelf he took a glass vial of mirror-bright slowsilver and poured it into the bowl. He checked the grimoire again and then went to the door to listen.

  They weren’t coming yet. Pip’s ears didn’t hear anything.

  “Curse it, Brumbee,” Nevery muttered. “Hurry up.” He paced across the floor and then back again.

  After some more pacing, Pip’s ears heard three people hurrying across the courtyard. Nevery heard them when the door to Heartsease opened.

  He met them at the top of the stairs. Magister Brumbee, puffing and red-faced, and looking desperately worried. With him and Benet was his apprentice, Keeston, who was wearing his wizard’s robe over a nightgown. Keeston’s blond hair stuck up on one side of his head and was flat on the other, and he still had sleep lines from his pillow on his face.

  Brumbee caught his breath. “My goodness, Nevery!” he said. “It’s the middle of the night!”

  “It’s important,” Nevery said. “My locus stone has been stolen.”

  Brumbee gasped. “Oh, no. But surely you took precautions.”

  “I thought I did,” Nevery growled. I knew what he was thinking—he hadn’t been expecting me to pick his pocket again. He went to the table and picked up the other two notes he’d written and brought them to Benet, by the door. “Take these now, Benet,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” Benet said, and left again.

  Nevery pointed to Brumbee’s apprentice. “You, Keeston. You’ve got your locus magical
icus?”

  Keeston blinked and stood up straighter. “Yes, sir, I do.”

  Yes, he did. Because Pip had stolen it back from the chimney swifts. Now I realized the swifts must have taken Keeston’s stone first as a kind of test, to see if their tourmalifine tongs and cages would work. Thanks to Pip, Keeston was able to draw out his locus stone, which he wore on a gold chain around his neck. To Pip, the stone blazed, and the flames around Keeston burned a little brighter than those around Nevery or Brumbee.

  “Good.” Nevery pointed to his grimoire. “Come here and take a look at this.” Keeston stepped to the table.

  “This is all so simply awful,” Brumbee said, wringing his hands. “We still don’t know who is stealing the locus magicalicii or what they want with them. All the magisters’ stones, Nevery! Every single one!”

  Nevery turned and studied Brumbee. “Not all, Brumbee,” he said. “Conn is a magister, and his stone has not been stolen.”

  “Of course!” Brumbee said. “Conn. But don’t you think that’s, well, suspicious?”

  “No, I do not,” Nevery said. He pointed at the table. “There’s tea and biscuits,” he said, and went back to the grimoire.

  “Oh,” Brumbee said. He went to the other table, poured himself a cup of tea, and sank into a chair. He sipped at the tea and made a face. “It’s cold!”

  At the worktable, Nevery and Keeston ignored him. “Do you see?” Nevery was saying.

  Keeston gripped his locus stone. “Y-yes, sir. The anstriker spell. You’re sure the magics are settled enough, sir?”

  “They are, yes,” Nevery said. “Can you do it?”

  Keeston gulped. “I’ve, um, never done a spell this difficult before. Who are we escrying for?”

  Nevery glanced aside at Brumbee and lowered his voice. “For Conn.”

  “All right.” Keeston studied Nevery’s grimoire for a few minutes. Nevery paced impatiently while Brumbee took nervous bites of a biscuit.