She let out a long breath and sank to the floor. “So much for Plan Whatever Letter of the Alphabet We’re on Now.”
A few minutes later the iron knight rumbled past again, shaking the cell, and Anne despaired of ever leaving.
Then she heard a knock on the door. Was that the iron knight? Since when did they knock?
“Pssst.”
Anne jumped at the sound. She peeked through the slot in the door and saw a familiar redhead peeking back at her.
“Pen!” exclaimed Anne. Relief flooded over her. “How did—”
Penelope held a finger to her lips.
“How did you know I was here?” Anne asked in a quieter voice.
“I saw you return with the Matron and that iron knight, but I couldn’t slip away until now.”
“You’re missing the ship!”
Penelope shook her head. “I double-checked the clock in the main entrance. There’s still twenty-five minutes left. The ship isn’t leaving until after midnight, just like it was supposed to all along. Anne, the Matron lied to you.”
Anne felt a stir of anger. “Why would she do that?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t think we should wait around to find out.” She rattled the door handle. “The door’s barred out here. I think I can lift it off, but I couldn’t find the key.”
Anne nodded. “Already taken care of.”
Penelope ducked out of sight. Anne heard her grunt with exertion and then the clunk of something heavy hitting the floor. A moment later the latch clicked and the door swung open.
“How’s that for a first-time prison break?” said Penelope. “This is going to look awesome on our pirate résumés.”
After Anne and Penelope rebarred the door to cover their tracks, they snuck out of the dungeon, easily avoiding the patrolling iron knight. On the way, Anne gave a full account of everything that had happened, including Jocelyn, the gauntlet, and the dragon. Penelope gasped and cheered in all the right places.
“We got accepted into a quest academy?” exclaimed Penelope. “That’s fantastic! When do we go? How do we go?”
“I have no idea,” said Anne. “But I’m not sure we’d be welcome there anymore.”
“Why not?”
“What would I say? ‘Thanks for the invitation. Sorry one of your instructors got flamed to death by a dragon when she came to get me.’”
Penelope frowned. “Okay, so that could be a little awkward.”
They climbed the long, winding staircase up from the dungeons until they reached the main floor of the Manor. After checking that the coast was clear, Penelope started to move in the direction of the entrance, but Anne turned in the opposite direction.
“Where are you going?” asked Penelope. “The dock is this way.”
“I need to go to the Matron’s office first,” said Anne.
“Are you serious?” squeaked Penelope.
“She has my stuff.”
Penelope tugged at Anne’s sleeve. “It’s too big of a risk.”
Anne placed her hand over Penelope’s. “If I’m going to get away from here, at the very least I need that ticket to get aboard the ship. And Jocelyn said any academy could take me if I had that gauntlet. She also said I could take you with me. Maybe her academy won’t want us anymore, but another one might. It’s worth a try, isn’t it? But you don’t have to risk getting caught. I’ll go alone. You head for the dock.”
Penelope shook her head fiercely. “I’m not going without you. And we’re nearly out of time.”
“That’s why we need to hurry.”
“What if the Matron is in her office? Are you just going to march in and demand the ticket and the gauntlet?”
Anne shrugged. “I’ll think of something. Maybe I can lure her out first.”
“Leave that to me,” said Penelope. “I’ll make a distraction, like we talked about doing on the ship.”
“No, Pen. I can’t let you—”
Penelope crossed her arms. “I can be every bit as stubborn as you. I’ll set off the alarm near the kitchens. It’s the farthest place in the building from her office. That should give you plenty of time.”
Anne sighed. “Okay. But after that, head straight for the ship.”
Penelope nodded. They shared a quick hug and set off. Penelope ran toward the kitchens, and Anne once again made her way along the empty winding corridors. The statues in the hallway leading to the Matron’s office created an eerie tunnel of horrors, and every creak of the floorboards made her jump. She crept along as quietly as possible. If the Matron caught her this time, she would drop Anne straight down Shaft Eleven and block up the entrance for good.
The door to the office stood wide open. Shadows played off the walls as someone paced back and forth. Anne could hear the Matron muttering to herself.
A wailing cry echoed down the corridor, and Anne nearly jumped out of her shoes.
The kitchen alarm.
Anne ducked behind the nearest statue. She had barely crouched out of sight when the Matron rushed from her office and hurried past. As soon as the Matron disappeared around the corner, Anne crept to the office door and glanced inside. Row upon row of glass domes gleamed in the moonlight, but the room was otherwise empty. Anne hurried over to the desk and began searching. Most of the drawers contained stacks of paper, but the large drawer at the bottom was locked. She crouched down and dug out her pocketknife again. This lock proved trickier than the door of the dungeon cell, but eventually she got it. She opened the drawer and a wave of relief washed over her. The gauntlet was inside, and underneath it was the book, still with the same title as before. Unfortunately, her drawings were nowhere to be found, and the loose page with the ticket was also missing (no doubt the Matron had destroyed it). Amazingly, though, when Anne opened the cover of the book, there was another ticket, identical to the first one, printed on what was now the first page. She shoved the book into her pocket, confident this time that the ticket would remain until she needed it, but the gauntlet was too bulky. It would be easier to wear than to carry, so she pulled it onto her left hand.
Then the alarm cut off.
Anne knew she had to leave the office before the Matron returned, but as she stood she noticed something: On the desk was the dome containing the silver medallion with the scarred dragon image. What had the Matron been doing with it?
Another faint sound rang out.
The clock in the entrance was chiming midnight.
Anne panicked. The ship would soon be leaving. She ran for the door and was halfway across the room when the twelfth chime struck.
Anne’s hand twitched inside the gauntlet.
She stopped and stared at it, unsure what had just happened.
It twitched again.
She tugged at the gauntlet, but it wouldn’t come off. It began to grow warm. Anne tried to wrench it from her hand, as it soon was so hot it burned. She suppressed a scream while waving her left arm wildly in the hopes of shaking it off.
Then the whole room started rattling, and despite her pain, Anne froze in terror. All the medallions vibrated against the glass of their domes, including the silver medallion on the desk. The rattling intensified as the gauntlet became even hotter, until suddenly the glass dome on the desk shattered and the silver medallion flew directly at Anne. She raised her arms to shield her face, and the medallion struck the gauntlet. The force of the impact knocked her backward into a shelf, and she tumbled to the floor.
A tiny rainbow-colored sparrow appeared above the medallion in a burst of light. It swooped around Anne three times, its wings brushing against her hair as it passed, but then it fell back into the medallion, almost as if it had been pulled back, and disappeared in another splash of light.
For a long time, Anne just sat, rocking back and forth, tears streaming down her cheeks, as both the gauntlet’s heat and her pain gradually subsided. When she opened her eyes again, she saw that the medallion had fixed itself to the circular inset in the gauntlet cuff. Whatever had ju
st happened, Anne suspected it was about to create more problems for her than it would solve.
Something clanked in the doorway. The Matron stood at the threshold along with a single iron knight.
The Matron held out her hand. “Give me the medallion.”
While the gauntlet belonged to Anne, the medallion admittedly did not. Thinking she might appease the Matron by cooperating, Anne tried to remove the silver disk, but like the gauntlet itself, the medallion refused to budge.
“It won’t come off,” she said breathlessly.
“Then give me the gauntlet.”
Anne hugged the gauntlet to herself. “It’s mine,” she said defiantly. “Besides, it’s stuck on, too.”
The Matron clenched and unclenched her jaw. Finally, she turned to the iron knight. “Remove it for her,” she said.
“But—but how can it remove the gauntlet when I can’t?” asked Anne.
In answer, the iron knight stepped forward.
And drew its sword.
Getting your hand cut off is less fun than you might think it is.
—A quote from some guy who got his hand cut off and discovered it was less fun than he thought it would be
Flight from Saint Lupin’s
As the iron knight reached for Anne, she instinctively held up her arms to protect herself, prepared for the worst.
Several seconds passed.
Nothing happened.
The iron knight stood before her, its hand outstretched, quivering slightly but otherwise frozen in place. Anne gripped the edge of the shelf and pulled herself to her feet. As soon as she lowered the gauntlet, the iron knight lurched forward and clutched at the empty space on the floor where she had been sitting.
The iron knight regained its balance and grabbed for her a second time. Again, Anne raised her arms. Again, the iron knight stopped.
Anne lowered the gauntlet.
The iron knight began to move.
She raised the gauntlet.
The iron knight froze.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” barked the Matron.
Anne ran behind the desk. As she expected, the iron knight surged forward, grasping at the spot where she had just been standing. Undeterred, the iron knight tromped around the desk after her. Anne clambered up onto the sill of an open window and braced herself against the frame. The lawn lay ten feet below. She held the gauntlet out toward the advancing knight, forcing it to stop.
“Wait!” said the Matron, rushing around the other side of the desk. “You could damage the medallion.”
“Stay back, then,” said Anne, leaning farther out.
The Matron halted. “Come down from there. We’ll figure something out.”
“Figure what out? You ordered that iron knight to cut off my hand.”
“An overreaction. We can search for a way to remove it safely, but your life is in peril. That gauntlet is dangerous, especially when combined with that medallion.”
“Why should I believe anything you say?” asked Anne.
The Matron held up her right hand and, one finger at a time, removed her glove. Anne held her breath. She had never seen the Matron without her glove on. With a final tug, the Matron whisked it off. Underneath was a hand unlike any Anne had ever seen. It appeared to be made of some sort of gray metal and contained lots of tiny moving parts. It wasn’t a gauntlet, but it definitely wasn’t flesh and blood, either. Anne couldn’t begin to guess how it worked or even how it was attached to the Matron’s arm. Was it magick, too, like the book?
“This is nothing you’re prepared to deal with,” said the Matron. “Now step down, and I promise no harm will come to you.”
Anne shook her head. “I don’t trust you.”
The Matron glared at her. “Very well. Back to the hard way, then.”
She raised her metal hand toward the iron knight, who slowly began to move forward even though Anne’s gauntlet was still raised. Whatever power the gauntlet had over the iron knight, the Matron’s metal hand had more. As the iron knight reached her, Anne summoned her courage and leapt. For a heart-stopping moment it felt like she might fall forever. Then she landed and tumbled down the short slope. She jumped to her feet and glanced back up at the open window, expecting to see the Matron standing there shaking her fist. But the window was empty.
Anne wasted no time and immediately set off running alongside the building toward the main courtyard. At the corner, she crashed headlong into Penelope and nearly jumped out of her own skin.
“What are you still doing here?” said Anne, picking herself up off the ground.
“I was busy avoiding an iron knight,” said Penelope. “What took you so long?”
Anne held up the gauntlet and showed Penelope the medallion.
Penelope gasped. “You stole from the Matron?”
“No,” said Anne. “The medallion attached itself to the gauntlet on its own. Painfully. And now it won’t come off.”
Anne checked the central yard for any signs of activity, but the coast was clear all the way to the main entrance with its looming clock tower. Anne could see the drawbridge just beyond—their best chance of escape.
“Ready?” asked Anne.
“Ready,” said Penelope.
“Go!”
They dashed across the courtyard.
They were only steps from the archway when the gears of the drawbridge began to grind. Anne’s eyes shot up to the top of the tower and her stomach flip-flopped. An iron knight stood silhouetted against the clock, winding the winch that raised the bridge. Their feet hit the planks of the rising deck, and they redoubled their efforts, pounding their way up the ever-steeper slope. The giant gears groaned. When they reached the end, Anne planted a firm foot and leapt for the opposite side, Penelope right beside her.
In the terrifying moment that they hung in the air, Anne realized their mistake. The drawbridge had risen too high. If they landed on the stone ramp from this height, they might break their legs or worse. Anne willed herself to drop straight down like a rock instead. As she fell, however, she saw that Penelope had propelled herself closer to the other side—but not quite far enough. Penelope’s head hit the edge of the ramp with a sickening thunk, and she fell into the moat.
A split second later Anne smacked into the icy water, the impact momentarily knocking the wind out of her. She struggled to the surface, gasping and gagging. Nearby, Penelope floated faceup—thankfully—and Anne grabbed her friend’s coat. The moat was only fifty feet wide, and they had landed halfway across. Anne held on to her unconscious companion as best she could using the gauntlet and started paddling for shore with her other hand.
Anne was making achingly slow progress when something brushed against her thigh. She kicked out but didn’t make contact. She knew what it must be, but she pushed the thought from her mind and paddled more frantically.
Less than ten feet from shore, she spotted it out of the corner of her eye: a large rotting fin, circling back toward them. Anne stroked harder, but her arms were tired and her breath was coming in short, sputtering gasps. She maneuvered herself between Penelope and the oncoming shark, which disappeared beneath them. Anne felt a tug, but no bite. It had Penelope! Her friend jerked again and was pulled under the water. Anne held on and went with her. She struggled to pull Penelope back up, but the shark was too powerful. It dragged them down into the reeds at the bottom.
With her lungs bursting and the cold quickly leeching away her strength, Anne pulled out her pocketknife, opened the blade using her teeth, and then swam past Penelope and stabbed desperately at the shark.
Contact.
The shark released Penelope, swimming away erratically, the knife lodged in its eye. Anne grabbed Penelope’s coat with both hands and kicked furiously, desperate for air. They surfaced at the edge of the moat. Penelope started to come around, and Anne helped her as they crawled onto the bank. As Penelope coughed out a lungful of sour moat water, Anne checked her over for signs of injury. Luckily, other than a lum
p on her forehead from where it made contact with the ramp, she was fine. A pattern of tears in her coat showed that the shark had only gotten hold of her clothing. Anne flopped onto her back, exhausted.
“Let’s… call that one… Plan Really Bad Idea,” mumbled Penelope.
The drawbridge gears started grinding again. Their pursuers were lowering the bridge.
“Come on,” said Anne.
Penelope had trouble rising on her own, so Anne put a steadying arm around her and helped her up, which was no small task given how much larger Penelope was than Anne. They started down the path leading to the dock, but paused when they noticed the swinging lanterns of an airship in the distant sky, slowly sailing away from the Saint Lupin’s tier.
They were too late.
Anne’s heart sank.
She dug the soggy book out of her coat pocket and looked down at the cover. The title had changed again. It now read The Adventurer’s Guide to Running Far Far Away. Wondering what that could possibly mean, she turned to the first page. The second ticket had disappeared, and in its place was a single word:
Hide.
Anne steered Penelope into the trees in the same direction she’d gone that morning. She figured they could take cover in the forest or in the entrance to Shaft Eleven and plan their next steps from there. Jutting roots and fallen branches threatened to send them sprawling, but Anne kept the pace steady and continued to support Penelope as best she could. After several frightening minutes of stumbling through the darkness, they broke into a clearing—the same clearing where Anne had fallen off the tier and onto the ledge earlier. She cursed their luck. They must have passed the mine in the dark.
“Look at the pretty light,” said Penelope, sounding dazed. She pointed.
Anne scanned the night sky, where one twinkling star caught her attention. It was growing bigger and bigger, which was unusual behavior for a star. Then again, it had been that sort of a day. In fact, the star seemed to be traveling right at them, and it was accompanied by an increasingly loud whooshing sound, giving the distinct impression that it was in fact another ball of fire (which is technically what a falling star is, except whereas one holds the promise of wonder and the fulfillment of wishes, the other promises instant crispification).
The Adventurer's Guide to Successful Escapes Page 4