The blond stage manager coughed. Her face was very white. “Um, Mr. Sergei, sir . . . I—I think you ought to have a look at this.”
“Not now,” he snapped, without so much as glancing in her direction. Now the Thing was swelling upward and outward, casting an enormous shadow that was rapidly eating up the ground. “Go on, Frederick. Unchain the lions. Let’s get on with it.”
“Sir, I really think—”
It was too late. Frederick the lion tamer turned the lions loose, just as the shadow solidified and became more than a shadow.
Became, instead, a balloon.
A giant, purple, hot-air balloon—the same one that Cordelia had noticed earlier, deflated and bunched limply on the ground—was now hugely swollen with air, bobbing and bumping through the tent, seemingly unmanned. Crash. It collided with the footlights, and there was a faint explosion of glass. Suddenly everyone was screaming. The air smelled like smoke.
Kicking up sawdust, crashing through set pieces, the balloon came, like some single-eyed cyclops let loose.
Everything was chaos. Everyone was screaming, running, toppling chairs and circus equipment, while the frenzied lions lunged and snarled, and the balloon continued to thunder forward, roaring hot air, thumping on the ground and lifting off again, rebounding from the tent ceiling before dropping. One of the lions knocked Sergei off his feet. Tomaseo, in his fear and shock, released the dragon, who went screeching, flapping through the air, his broken wing hindering his flight, barely dodging the balloon as it came crashing toward them. Loose papers spun through the air like snow stirred up by the wind.
Cordelia and Gregory were still tied to their chairs. “Help!” Cordelia shrieked. “Somebody, help!”
No one paid them any attention. And suddenly one of the lions was in front of Cordelia, grinning, revealing the long slick of its pink tongue. She kicked out and struck its nose. It drew back, but only for an instant.
“Cordelia!” Gregory screamed, as the lion opened its enormous mouth and moved as if to swallow her.
But at that moment she felt a blast of heat against her wrists, and in an instant, her hands were free. The soft rush of leathery wings beat against her back, and she realized that the dragon had been the one to save her. He had burned away the ropes—just in time.
Before she knew what she was doing, she reached out and shoved her thumbs against the lion’s nose. His eyes went wide; his body seized; and then he sneezed. The force of it toppled her backward in her chair. She landed on her back with a loud oof.
“Not so fast.” Before the lion could lunge again, Gregory, free now of his bindings, sprang up and grabbed hold of the lion’s tail. Cordelia fumbled to untie the ropes around her ankles. The dragon swooped through the air above them. He was flying lopsided, struggling even to stay aloft, exhausted and still hindered by the splint.
“Watch out!” she shrieked, as the lion, pinned in place, roared and made a go at the dragon circling his head. The dragon dodged, but clumsily, and came crashing to the ground. Cordelia scrambled to her feet and dove for him. She managed to scoop him into her arms and rolled to safety just as the lion shook Gregory off and pounced.
She coughed out a mouthful of sawdust. Her eyes were blurry with grit. The dragon panted against her chest, his small tongue lolling from his mouth. His damaged wing was trembling. Where was Gregory? Where was the lion?
She blinked the dust from her eyes and her vision cleared. She screamed.
The hot-air balloon was coming down—directly on her head.
Chapter 17
Cordelia could do nothing but squeeze her eyes shut and wait to be squashed into splinters. She felt a tremendous pressure, a blast of wind and air, as if a giant were bringing down its fist. She heard Gregory calling her name and felt the dragon beating his wings against her like a second heartbeat.
And then: nothing.
The expected impact never came.
She opened her eyes. The balloon had stopped with its basket hovering barely two inches above her nose. Cordelia was almost afraid to move—afraid that if she did, the balloon would collapse on top of her and she’d be flattened like a pancake.
Gregory’s face appeared in the narrow gap between the ground and the hovering basket. Behind him, she could still see the threshing of feet and paws.
“Give me your hand!” He had to shout to be heard over the chaos.
Keeping the dragon pressed to her chest with one arm, she reached out with the other and grabbed hold of Gregory’s outstretched hand. He pulled, and she slid out from underneath the basket. As soon as she did, like magic, a rope ladder appeared over its side. Gregory and Cordelia exchanged a look.
She hesitated for only a second. It was their best—their only—chance of getting out of the circus alive. “Follow me!” she cried. She began climbing one-handed, and Gregory, who had Icky riding his back like a furry backpack, started up after her.
Cordelia had nearly reached the lip of the basket when she heard barking and froze.
She twisted around. “Cabal!” she called down to Gregory. To her horror, she saw that the balloon was moving again, lifting off the ground inch by inch. “We forgot Cabal!”
Cordelia scanned the crowd, her eyes jumping over the screaming stage manager, who was perched on a chair; and the bearded lady, who had gone into a clean faint; and Sergei, who was defending himself from one of the lions, using an overturned chair as a shield. The other lion had turned on his trainer and was chasing the poor fingerless Frederick around in circles, nipping at his coattails. Cabal was cowering at the edge of the ring, barking furiously and dodging Alonzo’s attempts to retrieve him.
The balloon was picking up speed. They were hurtling toward the exit: a small bright triangle beyond which she could see blue sky and sunshine.
“Hit the brakes!” Gregory yelled, leaning heavily against the ladder, as though he might stop the balloon from going forward. “Stop!”
“There are no brakes!” Cordelia pried the dragon from her chest. “I’ll be back for you,” she whispered, and heaved him over the lip of the basket, trusting that he would be safe.
Then she jumped.
She soared over Gregory’s head, hit the ground, and rolled to her feet. She sprinted for Cabal, leapfrogging over a toppled chair, zigzagging through the panicked performers, ignoring Gregory’s frantic shouts.
Cabal saw her coming and let out another volley of barking. Alonzo spun around, his face contorted with fury. He staggered toward Cordelia with a roar. Before he could grab her, she dove, sliding on her stomach through the gap between his legs. Cabal was in her arms, wiggling, licking her face. She vaulted to her feet just as Alonzo reached for her again. She felt a sharp tug and nearly lost her balance; but then there was a ripping sound, and as she catapulted forward, several tools clattered into the dust. Alonzo had ripped out one of the pockets of her jacket.
She didn’t care. She was running, holding Cabal to her chest, breathless. The hot-air balloon was nearly six feet off the ground now, moving higher and faster with every passing second. Soon it would barrel through the tent exit and go floating to the sky, taking Gregory with it. And she, Cordelia, would be lost.
“Hurry!” Gregory was still clinging to the rope ladder. “Run!”
At the same time, Sergei spotted her. “Stop her!” he howled from where he sat, cowering behind his chair and dodging the lion’s attacks. “Somebody stop that girl!”
Cordelia didn’t have to look behind her to know that Alonzo the giant was after her.
His footsteps thundered behind her, sending vibrations through the soles of her feet. She tasted sweat and sawdust. A dozen feet away, her rucksack was lying forlornly on the ground, but she had no time to grab it.
The balloon had reached the exit.
“No!” Cordelia didn’t realize she had screamed until the word echoed back to her, foreign-sounding.
Then: a small miracle. For a second, the balloon stuck, caught between the tent folds like a blueber
ry between the tines of a fork. The momentary delay gave Cordelia just enough time to catch up.
“Jump, Cordelia!” Gregory was hanging off the bottom of the ladder, straining, reaching for her hand. She jumped, extending an arm to him.
Their fingertips barely touched; and then she was falling again.
“Try again!” Gregory’s eyes were wide and panicked. He was hanging practically upside down. “Try harder!”
But this time, their fingertips didn’t meet at all. The balloon was bullying its way through the narrow exit—squeezing, squeaking, forcing the opening even wider. Now it was like an eggplant being crammed into a mouth: the mouth widened, stretched, screamed.
Cordelia dropped again. Gregory lurched toward her, arms outstretched.
“Cordelia!” he screamed, as the tent gave a groan and a shudder.
Just as Cordelia had given up hope, Icky scrambled down Gregory’s back and shoulders. Like an acrobat, the filch hooked his knees around Gregory’s neck and stretched his long arms out to reach her.
“Now!” Gregory shouted.
“Now!” Sergei screamed.
Wheeeee, went the balloon through the narrow opening.
Cordelia jumped—
Gregory lunged—
The tent spat the balloon into open air—
And just as the balloon went soaring, soaring, soaring away, Cordelia felt Icky’s hands close easily around her wrist, and she was pulled along with it, leaving the circus tent far behind.
Chapter 18
With Icky’s help, Cordelia caught hold of the bottom rung of the ladder. With her other hand, she passed Cabal up to Gregory, who was still hanging upside down, his hat long gone, his hair a curtain over his face.
Then, hand over hand, Cordelia climbed, even as the rope ladder swayed through the open air, whipping past slate roofs and stone towers. Higher and higher the balloon climbed. Wind stung Cordelia’s cheeks and made tears spring up in her eyes.
“Go on,” Gregory shouted, when she had reached his level. He had righted himself. Icky was still clinging to his back and Cabal was tucked inside his jacket, so Cordelia could only make out his eyes and the tufted white hair on his ears. Gregory reached out, put a hand on Cordelia’s back, and pushed. “You go first.”
She didn’t argue. Just looking down at the network of gray pavement flowing like rivers below her was enough to make her dizzy. The balloon swerved left around a church spire and Cordelia felt her stomach launch into her throat. She turned her attention upward, to the swollen purple balloon, and the solid basket suspended underneath it. Not too far now . . .
Both Cordelia and the balloon continued to climb. The dragon appeared on the lip of the basket, flapping his wings, squawking encouragingly, and then just as quickly withdrew. Her arms were shaking. She didn’t want to think about what would happen if she slipped—the fall through open air, the long, hard tumble, the splat. Almost there . . .
At the end of the ladder she hauled herself into the basket headfirst, breathless and grateful. Gregory was right behind her and landed on Cordelia’s back. Cordelia groaned. Gregory grunted. Icky squeaked. And Cabal began barking.
“Very graceful,” said a girl’s voice. A familiar girl’s voice.
Cordelia wriggled out from underneath Gregory. For a second, when she looked up, she didn’t believe it; she blinked rapidly several times, thinking she must have hit her head. A girl with fat banana curls and a white dress the exact shape of a wedding cake was standing, arms crossed, beneath the small blue flame that kept the balloon aloft.
Still, the girl didn’t disappear, no matter how much Cordelia rubbed her eyes and wished for her to.
Which meant that she was really stuck in a hot-air balloon with Elizabeth Perkins, the girl she hated most in the world.
Cordelia had a sudden urge to launch herself out of the basket.
Gregory was the one to speak first. “What are you doing here?”
Elizabeth tossed her irritatingly perfect hair. “Is that your way of saying thank you?”
“Thank you for what?” Cordelia said. “You nearly squashed me.”
“I saved you, you mean.” Elizabeth turned her icy blue eyes to Cordelia. Once, Cordelia had envied Elizabeth’s eyes. That was long ago, when they’d been friends. Now Cordelia thought Elizabeth’s eyes were the color of mold on cheese. “If it wasn’t for me, a lion would be picking you out of his teeth by now.”
She was right, of course; but Cordelia would never admit it.
“I told you,” Gregory said, turning to Cordelia. “I told you someone was following us. Didn’t I?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t following you.”
“Oh yeah?” Cordelia said, crossing her arms. “Then how’d you end up at a circus all the way in New York?”
For a split second, Elizabeth hesitated, and in that brief moment, she looked just like the old Elizabeth: the Elizabeth who was afraid of lightning, who loved to play hide-and-seek but always forgot to check the cupboards next to the stove, who had once made matching friendship bracelets out of bits of an unraveled sock. Then the moment passed, and she looked as pinched and unpleasant as ever.
“It’s my birthday,” she said, with another hair toss. Cordelia wondered how she didn’t have a constant crick in her neck. “Daddy said I could have anything I wanted. I wanted to go to the circus in New York.” She shrugged. “When I got bored, I decided to . . . explore backstage. Good thing I did, too, or you’d be mincemeat. You owe me now, Cordelia. Remember that.”
“I don’t owe you anything,” Cordelia said, when Elizabeth smirked. Elizabeth could have taught a master class in smirking.
Elizabeth ignored her. “So,” she said, “where are we heading?”
“We?” Gregory nearly choked on the word.
“We are not heading anywhere,” Cordelia said sternly. “You’re going home.” She peeked over the edge of the basket and instantly regretted it. They were skimming the rooftops now, the shadow of the balloon leaping over shingle and shale. Cordelia spotted several children gaping at them from an attic window. Up ahead, a bright copper clock tower gleamed in the moonlight. Cordelia quickly turned away from the dizzying view. “How do you land this thing?”
“I’m not telling you,” Elizabeth said.
“Don’t be a priss,” Cordelia said, which was like telling Icky not to fart, but still. “Go on and bring us down. Then you can go running back to Daddy.”
Elizabeth’s eyes flashed. “You listen to me. I’m the captain of this balloon—”
“Balloons don’t have captains,” Cordelia scoffed.
“This balloon has a captain, so you better be nice to me, or I’ll make you wish that lion had sunk his teeth into you instead.”
“Oh, really? Are you going to bat me to death with your eyelashes?”
“Cordelia,” Gregory said warningly.
The balloon was rocking a little, picking up speed, and she struggled to keep her footing. “Or maybe your daddy will give me a time-out.”
“Cordelia,” Gregory said, a little louder.
“Shut up.” Elizabeth was staggering too, as the balloon rocked back and forth in the wind. “You don’t know anything. You’re nothing but an ugly, smelly, stupid—”
“CORDELIA!” Gregory roared.
She whipped around to face him. “What do you—?” The words evaporated in her throat and turned to a squeak. The clock tower loomed only a few feet in front of them.
They were heading directly for a collision.
“Get down!” Elizabeth shoved Cordelia, hard.
Cordelia rolled to the left, taking Gregory down with her. The basket tilted wildly under their combined weight. Icky and Cabal tumbled after them. The ropes groaned as the basket tipped. Suddenly she couldn’t see. Cabal had landed on top of her, his soft belly splayed across her eyes. Cordelia pushed him off. Elizabeth was standing, pale-faced, gripping the thick ropes that connected the balloon to the bask
et.
“What are you doing?” Cordelia shrieked. Icky screeched in fear. As the basket once again tilted, Cabal came tumbling down toward Cordelia, landing in a heap at her feet.
“What’s—it—look—like?” Elizabeth huffed out. She was leaning all the way back, her slick leather shoes slipping a little on the floor of the basket, as the balloon shuddered and bucked at the end of the line like a dog resisting its lead. “I’m steering.”
She was right: slowly, slowly, they began to change direction. The balloon swelled with the wind. They turned a circle in the sky like a humongous ship carving through the frothy clouds. And suddenly Cordelia understood: Elizabeth had used Cordelia and Gregory’s weight to help change the balloon’s course at the last minute.
Finally the basket stopped bucking like a wild horse. Cordelia felt safe enough to stand. Elizabeth let go of the rope. It snapped into place, tight and taut as a pulled bowstring.
The clock tower was safely behind them; they had left New York City behind, and all around them was nothing but deep navy sky, and wispy clouds touched by moonlight.
Elizabeth had saved them. Again.
Gregory stood up, coughing. “Icky puff hif foot in my mouv,” he said, sticking out his tongue and revealing patches of filch fur.
Elizabeth’s eyes landed on the filch and she recoiled, as though she were seeing him for the first time. “What is that thing?” she said, wrinkling her nose. “It smells like a dirty dishcloth.”
Icky, no doubt thinking he had been complimented, chattered delightedly. Cordelia sucked in a deep breath. She thought of the horrified faces of the circus performers.
Fortunately, before she could speak a word, the dragon settled the problem for her. With a sudden, furious flapping, he rose off the floor of the basket and settled on Elizabeth’s shoulder. She shrieked and stumbled backward.
“Get your lizard off me!” she cried, trying to swat the dragon down. The dragon, thinking it was a game, let out a delighted caw and dug his claws more firmly into the fabric of her dress.
Cordelia couldn’t repress a smile. “It isn’t a lizard,” she said. “It’s a dragon.”
The Magnificent Monsters of Cedar Street Page 14