Island of Dragons

by Lisa McMann

As darkness fell around them, the flaming tar balls continued to rattle the mansion, knocking out all but the strongest of windows. One especially large tar ball smashed into the side of the mansion, leaving a gaping hole in the second floor wall, straight through to Alex’s private living quarters. Rubble flew everywhere, destroying a portion of Alex’s bedroom and sending his dresser and blackboard crashing to the floor. The tar ball scorched the remains, but luck was with Artimé and it burned itself out.

  Alex remained unaware. His unconscious body was focused on expelling the rest of the water he’d breathed in, and the nurses were intent on keeping their mage alive, one minute at a time.

  Finally, after an agonizing hour, Alex began to groan. He rolled onto his back and coughed and choked. “My throat,” he rasped, and opened his eyes. He stared at the ceiling for a long, confused moment, and then looked at Florence and Simber. “What happened?”

  Simber filled him in.

  “Is Fox all right?”

  “He’s fine,” said Simber. “Kitten is fine too. She crrrawled out of yourrr pocket a little while ago.”

  “What’s happening out there?” Alex sat up and wiped his face with his damp sleeve as he began remembering everything that was going on. He struggled to his feet, waving off help from the nurses. “Thank you so much,” he said to them. “But I need to get back out there.”

  The nurses shrugged at each other as Alex made his way through the hospital ward, fighting off the woozy blackness that washed over him. He stumbled. Florence reached out to catch him, and he grabbed on to the doorframe to steady himself and let the light-headedness pass. “What about Ms. Octavia?” he asked when he could see again. “And Sean and the others on the ship?”

  “They’re all awake and fine again,” said Florence. “But we need to strategize about what to do with them. They’re in a precarious position out there overnight.”

  “We can’t leave the ship out there without anyone protecting it,” said Alex.

  “True,” said Florence. “You could try transporting it to the Museum of Large.”

  Alex thought about it for a moment. “No,” he said. “We may need it to be easily accessible. And there’s no guarantee on placement with the transport spell—I don’t want it to accidentally end up in the lounge, crushing everyone.”

  “I’ll stay with the ship overrrnight,” said Simber. “I might not be able to attack an enemy ship prrroperrrly, but I can prrrotect one of ourrr own without messing up. I think.” The giant cat looked slightly disgusted with himself, which was rare indeed.

  Alex flashed Simber a sympathetic look. “It’s clear that they’ve prepared themselves for fighting you, Simber. That’s one bad side to fighting enemies we’ve fought before—they’ve figured out how to handle you. We’ve lost the surprise factor.”

  “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 ye
ars. How are things?”

  Alex smiled wearily. “Under control so far, but you might want to communicate with the kitchen blackboard to arrange for food down here in the morning in case the bar runs out. The battle rages on.”

  “You’d think Clive would have mentioned it to us,” Earl said, a bit put out.

  “I haven’t had a chance to give him an update,” Alex said. “It’s my fault.”

  “Still, he could answer his page. Of course he’s probably sleeping. He doesn’t have a hundred people asking him questions all night long.”

  “Sorry, Earl.”

  “So did the boy return?”

  Alex was puzzled by the abrupt change of subject. “What? Which one?”

  “Henry. He’s a nice kid. Very respectful. I heard he was missing.”

  Alex felt like Earl had hit him over the head with a bat. “Oh no,” he whispered. How could Alex have forgotten about Henry and Spike? He found his voice. “No, he’s not back yet.” He ran a hand over his hair and turned away. “I . . . crud. I’ve got to go.”

  He ran back to the tube and hit the button that would take him to the entryway, where all was quiet for the moment. He rushed outside and found Florence tirelessly filling buckets and placing them on the edge of the roof for Mr. Appleblossom.

  “I totally forgot about Spike and Henry!” Alex exclaimed. “Tell me again, Florence—were they right behind you? Did you see them leave the Island of Legends?”

  Florence paused in her work. “I’m worried too,” she said gently. “I don’t know if Henry and Spike actually left. I didn’t see them, but I assume they did shortly after Pan and me. That was the plan. Spike isn’t quite as fast as Pan, but even if they left hours later, they should have been here by now.”

  Mr. Appleblossom set three empty buckets near Florence and took the full ones from her.

  Florence went on. “I guess it could have happened that Karkinos took an unexpected turn for the worse and Henry had to stay back. But that seems so unlikely—the crab was steadily improving and actually doing quite well earlier that day. So based on that, I can only assume Spike and Henry are trapped on the other side of the line of ships and unable to pass them without being detected.”

  “Or maybe the eel found them,” Alex said, his throat tight.

  “Spike can outrun the eel,” Florence said. “The only way she’d be in trouble is if the eel surprised her from the side or head-on. The eel would have to see Spike coming. But I’m sure Spike’s intuition is on high alert—she’d most likely be able to detect the presence of the eel in time. I hope so, anyway.”

  Alex blew out a breath. “It’s making me sick to think about it,” he said.

  Another round of flaming tar balls lit up the sky around the island. It was almost beautiful to watch them, so synchronized. Alex didn’t have time to watch, though, as the one aimed at the mansion struck the side of the building near the top, right next to the existing hole. The tar ball vanished inside it.

  Alex ran to the edge of the roof, lay on his stomach, and peered down at the gaping hole in his bedroom wall. He scooted back up to his feet and ran back to Florence. “There’s a fire in my bedroom,” he said. “Can you get me down from here?”

  Alex grabbed two full buckets of water from the edge of the roof and Florence lowered him to the ground. He raced inside the mansion with them, trying to keep them from sloshing everywhere, and ran up the stairs. Florence thundered behind him with more water.

  They turned at the balcony and ran down the not-a-secret hallway to Alex’s living quarters. He set down a bucket to open the door, and then picked it up and rushed inside. Smoke billowed all around, and flames licked at the bedding. Alex threw the water on it from one bucket, then tossed the other bucketful on the tar ball, hoping to stop the fire from catching on.

  Florence dumped her buckets of water over the fire as well, and stomped out stray embers with her feet. Steam rose up with an angry sizzle, which soon died down. The fire was out.

  “Whew,” said Alex, fanning the air. He set his buckets on the floor and climbed over the rubble to the hole in the wall. It was no less than six feet wide and taller than him. He peered out. He could barely make out Queen Eagala’s ship and one other outlined by the dawn.

  “That was a close one,” Alex said. The thinning darkness played tricks on his eyes. He squinted toward the ships as moment by moment the sky gave off a fraction more light. “What the . . . ?” he muttered, and then beckoned Florence to come over and look. “Do you see something? Look alongside the ships.”

  Florence strode over and bent down to look out. “I don’t have eyes like Simber,” she said, “but I see something moving.” She looked closer. “It looks like smaller boats being lowered to the water.” She peered more closely. “And they’re filling up with people.”

  Fear struck Alex’s heart. He gripped the ragged edge of the opening. “This is it,” he said. “They’re coming ashore!” Immediately he whirled around. “Clive!” he barked. “Alert Earl in the lounge and all the other blackboards on the property to advise all nonfighters to stay hidden in the lounge! The enemy is approaching land!”

  Clive didn’t answer.

  “Clive?” Alex frowned and turned around to look at the blackboard, but he couldn’t see it in the dim light. He lit a highlighter and peered at the space where the blackboard normally stood, and then he gasped. “Oh no!”

  Florence gasped too, and they rushed over to the pile of rubble that was topped with the second tar ball. Florence and Alex began dragging pieces of the wall away and flinging them out of the way, and then they shoved the dresser off to one side, and finally, at the bottom of everything, they uncovered the broken remains of the blackboard.

  Clive’s eyes were closed. He looked peaceful. But his face was deathly still.

  “Clive!” cried Alex. He brushed some silt and mortar from the blackboard. Alongside Clive’s face was scrawled one final message to the mage.

  Don’t die.

  Pirates Ahoy

  Alex dropped down next to the blackboard pieces, ignoring the crunch of broken glass under his knees. “Clive!” he shouted again. “Clive?”

  Florence put a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Leave him,” she said softly. “He’s gone. There’s nothing you can do.”

  Alex looked up at her, his face anguished. “But—”

  “We’ll take care of his remains later. Right now we need to get the word to the teams about the enemies coming ashore.”

  They heard what sounded like a stampede in the hallway. Alex immediately stood and pulled spell components from his pocket. A moment later, Simber skidded past the doorway. “The pirrrates arrre coming ashorrre,” he said, coming back and poking his head in. “Have you alerrrted the squirrrelicorns, Alex?”

  Florence gave him a stressful glance.

  Simber peered past the rubble. His stern look softened. “Oh,” he said, and looked closer. “I’m sorrry. Who can take his place?”

  Alex wrung his hands, distraught over Clive’s death. “I can’t even think about that! I mean . . . I didn’t know this would happen. If only I’d thought to put him on the other side of the room when the tar balls began . . .”

  “It’s not your fault. I’ll take care of him,” said Florence. “Alex, go with Simber and handle the attack. Do it now.”

  Alex nodded, numb, and with one last look back, followed Simber out the door.

  Simber regarded Alex carefully as they jogged through the mansion to get outside. “Sometimes you have to keep going,” said the statue gently.

  Alex nodded. He’d done it before, and he would do it again. Forcefully he pushed Clive’s tragic ending to the back of his mind. “I’m okay,” he said, feeling anything but. They went outside.

  There were multiple tenders coming from each ship, and as the day brightened moment by moment, Alex could see they were packed full of pirates.

  “Squirrelicorns!” Alex called out, his voice thick and a bit ragged. “Alert the west an
d north teams to the pirates’ approach on land! Quickly!”

  The squirrelicorns flew off immediately with their orders.

  “Teams!” cried Alex next, to those on the south shore. “Fire at will as soon as they get within range!”

  Alex’s, Simber’s, and Mr. Appleblossom’s teams rushed to the shore and lined up, components in hand.

  As two tenders left Eagala’s ship and passed alongside Artimé’s ship, the Artiméans on board rained spell components down on them, causing a flurry of confusion and a pileup of stricken pirates. “That’s the way,” Alex muttered.

  Alex looked along the shore to the west, spotting Lani and her team doing the same thing his team was doing—protecting the shore and standing ready to take down as many of the pirates as they could before the boats had the chance to land. Alex raised a hand to Lani, and she signaled back. He hoped the other teams were doing something similar. The fewer pirates making it onshore, the better.

  The boats that had come alongside Artimé’s ship now veered wildly away from it. Instead of coming straight toward the mansion, they headed for the shore where Lani’s and Samheed’s teams were stationed. That meant two additional tenders full of pirates for those teams to defend against.

  Alex frowned, and then ordered six members of his team to go up the shore to assist Lani and Samheed, worried that they were going to get the brunt of the attack. Simber and Florence would have to pick up the slack in front of the mansion. They were about to get very busy.

  Before the first tenders made it to shore, more boats were lowered to the water alongside the ships. The pirates climbed into them and soon began rowing ashore. The waters were filled with them. Alex hadn’t seen anything like it in his life.

  Finally the first wave of boats came within spell-casting range. Alex, along with his team, began firing upon them.

  Immediately the men and women seated in the front of the boats held their shields up. Most of the components bounced off them into the water. Alex remembered what Ms. Octavia had said the previous day about the protective spell.