by Lisa McMann
“No,” Liam said. “And if there was something, we’d see it from quite far away, I should think. We’d have plenty of time to prepare for whatever it was.”
Aaron nodded and dried his hand on his pants, keeping his eyes trained on the horizon. Every now and then he thought he saw a bump or two far away, but then the bumps would waver and almost disappear, though one seemed to be quite consistent. He stared at it until his eyes watered. Closing them for a moment, Aaron imagined himself sitting and relaxing on the rocks by the water. It seemed like it could be very pleasant here, as long as Quill wasn’t about to be attacked from all sides.
Soon the moment of peace passed, and he grew anxious again.
“All right, well, that’s enough of that.” He turned and started hiking up the rocky bank toward the palace. As he climbed, his mind replayed the conversation. Something was stuck in his craw and he couldn’t seem to get beyond it.
When they reached the driveway once more, Aaron turned to Liam. “What do you suppose Gondoleery is up to?”
Liam’s heart skipped a beat. “I don’t know, sir, but I’m not certain that I trust her to be fully, ah, supportive of you. I might be wrong, though.”
Aaron scowled, remembering the bolt of fire she’d hit Meghan with. “I don’t trust her either. She’s sneaky and dangerous. Don’t be afraid to speak up if you notice anything amiss, all right, Governor? But I’m betting on us. Once we get a plan in place with General Blair, we’ll have the full support of the Quillitary, and we’ll no longer have a need for her. I’m thinking it’ll soon be time to send Governor Rattrapp back to the Ancients Sector. Her usefulness to me has quite run out.”
Liam nodded. “That might solve some problems,” he said lightly. The biggest problem of all was more like it. It wouldn’t fix everything, but . . .
As always, Liam kept his thoughts to himself. It was an interesting tightrope to walk, he mused, and his respect for the dearly departed Eva Fathom continued to grow. He was actually a little afraid of being able to fill her shoes. He just couldn’t mess this up. Not for Artimé, not for Claire, and certainly not for Meghan, who was the only one who seemed to believe in him. At least for now.
The pressure was blinding.
Aaron Scores
The trip to the Quillitary was slow and labored due to the extra weight of the barrels, and for a time Aaron feared they wouldn’t make it. He was tempted to pour a bit of the oil into their jalopy’s engine to ensure their arrival, but after having topped off the barrels so perfectly, Aaron didn’t want to dip into the precious liquid until the general had seen it.
As they puttered along, Aaron took in the new, somewhat shocking view of the sea the entire way. The Quillitary and Necessaries had done a decent job smoothing out the rubble, spreading it from the side of the road, down the slope, and to the shore. Aaron had to admit the work was quite impressive. It was strange how quickly he was growing accustomed to seeing the water all around.
When they finally arrived inside the Quillitary grounds, Aaron, Liam, and the driver wrestled the barrels of oil from the vehicle. Aaron sent the driver away to wait for them while one of the Quillitary soldiers went to get General Blair.
As they waited, Aaron looked around. The Quillitary grounds remained enclosed with walls on all sides—only the gate provided access, as before. Aaron scratched his head, wondering about it, but soon General Blair came striding toward them. Aaron put the thought aside and stood tall, extending his hand in greeting.
The general eyed the barrels. “What’s this?” he asked.
“It’s the oil I promised you for your vehicles,” Aaron said. “Would you like to have a look?”
“Humph,” the general said.
Aaron took that to mean yes, so he unfastened the lid of one of the barrels and lifted it, letting the excess oil drip back in.
General Blair dipped his finger into the liquid and withdrew it. He rubbed the oil between his thumb and finger and studied the residue. He put his thumb to his nose and sniffed, then held his hand out in front of him, regarding the oil once more.
“Does it work?” he asked.
Aaron blinked. He hadn’t actually done a test. Liam shifted uncomfortably next to him, and Aaron blurted out, “Of course it works.”
“Let’s see, then.” The general looked around the yard and chose one of the vehicles that seemed to be in good shape.
Aaron, who had forgotten to bring along a smaller can in which to transport the oil, looked around the yard for something he could use. He found a rusty pail, shook out the dust, and dipped it into the barrel, careful not to make it overflow.
Cupping his hand under the pail to catch every precious drop, Aaron walked over to the vehicle. The general lifted the hood and propped it open, and then he stood back and folded his arms across his chest.
Aaron looked over all the different parts of the engine, trying to figure out what each was for, and trying to locate the right spot for the oil without giving away his ignorance. After careful examination, Aaron determined that there were only three possible parts into which he could pour liquid. He eliminated one of them immediately, and then blindly chose from the other two, unscrewed the cap, and peered inside. He couldn’t see anything, but it smelled faintly like chicken grease.
Feeling quite sure he’d found the right spot, he first crawled under the vehicle, looked around for a way to remove the existing grease, unscrewed a cap below the tank, and drained the liquid that was in there. When the container was empty, he closed the drain, slid out, and poured his cashew oil into it. He screwed the cap on and dropped the hood with a startling clang, then went to the driver’s seat to see if he could get the vehicle to start. He’d never done that before, either, but he’d watched how it was done on several occasions and he felt pretty comfortable giving it a try. He glanced at Liam, who was doing a terrible job of hiding his anxiety, and turned the key that sat in the ignition.
The vehicle choked and sputtered.
Aaron quickly turned it off. He pumped a pedal on the floor as he’d seen his drivers do on occasion, and then he turned the ignition once more.
The vehicle screeched, protested, and died on its own.
Aaron didn’t know what to do. Sweat dripped from his temples and down his cheeks. He leaned back in the seat, craning his neck to look at the pedals on the floor, and tried pumping a different one. Then he took a deep breath and turned the ignition once more.
This time the vehicle sputtered and roared with life.
Aaron bit his lip to hide his glee and held his breath, wishing for his luck to hold as the roar settled to a smooth purr. After a minute, Aaron looked up and saw that a few of the Quillitary soldiers had gathered around to see what was happening. He could hear their comments about the bright sound and the smooth chug of the engine, which confirmed what he already knew to be true—that Quillitary vehicles had never sounded so steady before.
Leaving it running, Aaron stepped out so that the general could take it for a test drive, and he watched as the man rode around the yard in a circle. A moment later the general got out and instructed one of his soldiers to take it for a ride up to the palace and back at top speed to see how fast it would go now.
As the vehicle sped out of the grounds and onto the main road, Aaron, Liam, and the general jogged after it for a few yards, watching it leave a huge cloud of dust in its wake.
“Not bad, High Priest,” General Blair said. He looked at Aaron. “Maybe you’re useful after all.” He turned and walked toward his house, laughing to himself as if he’d just made a mean joke. After a few steps, he turned and looked at the high priest and governor. “Well, come on, then! Let’s plot the demise of Artimé.”
The War Room
General Blair invited Aaron and Liam to sit around the table in his house. Spread across it were half a dozen little black instruments with bits of rusty barbed wire attached.
“What are these?” Aaron asked.
“I’m not sure,” General Blai
r said. “They came off the top of the wall in different places. I’ve never seen anything like them before.”
Liam picked one up and turned it in his hand, and then his mouth went dry. He knew what they were. Eva had told him about the screens in Mr. Today’s—now Alex’s—office that constantly showed different parts of Quill. These were the magical cameras. He set the piece down. “Looks like a piece of junk to me.”
The general shot Liam a curious look, and then shrugged. “Maybe,” he said.
“What did you end up doing with the barbed wire, by the way?” Liam asked, trying to change the subject.
“My soldiers are cutting it up and stacking the pieces here in the Quillitary grounds. We’ll use it for weapons eventually.”
Aaron nodded. “Resourceful,” he said. “Really smart.”
“Of course it is,” said General Blair, his face clearly showing signs of annoyance. “Well, then, let’s discuss. We’ll begin with everything that went wrong in the initial battle with Artimé.”
“Good idea,” offered Aaron. He was really out of his element now, yet couldn’t seem to stop commenting. “Go ahead.”
“If you’ll keep quiet,” General Blair muttered.
“I will,” Aaron said. “Continue. Please.”
The general cleared his throat. “First, they saw us coming from a mile away,” he said. “And our approach was ridiculously slow.”
“But that little problem is fixed now, isn’t it?” Aaron asked smugly. He pointed out the window at the soldier who had already driven to the palace and back, and was now getting out of the vehicle.
General Blair ignored him. “We’re removing the wall, which was the main hindrance and cause of our initial loss. And we’re working to smooth out the terrain so that the rubble is something our vehicles can drive over if necessary. And while my Quillitary is doing that painstaking job, they are also preparing for the battle by using the rubble as a physical training device. Soon they’ll be perfectly nimble and able to run at top speed over the rocks anywhere in Quill and Artimé.”
“That sounds extraordinarily wise,” Aaron said, trying to sound wise himself, but not doing a very good job bluffing his way through all things Quillitary. He tapped a finger to his chin. “And what about weapons? Besides the potential new ones made of wire, I mean?”
General Blair narrowed his eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with our weapons.”
Aaron glanced sidelong at Liam, who didn’t return the look. “Nothing wrong with the weapons?” Aaron repeated, trying not to sound too incredulous. What was the general thinking? The weapons were a mess of rusty scrap metal from ages past, and a few guns with almost no bullets left. “It seems like excellent weaponry might be an important factor when fighting against magic.”
Aaron thought about the sack of magical components that Liam had stolen from Artimé and nearly mentioned them as a potential surprise attack weapon, but then thought the better of it. Instead he added more generically, “Magic itself might not be a bad idea, either.”
The general leaned forward, the scar at his throat pulsing. “Is that what you think?” he asked. “Magic is for Unwanteds who deserve to die. There’s nothing wrong with our weapons,” he said again. “And even if there was, it’s not your worry. Got it, High Priest?”
Aaron didn’t like the general’s tone. They were supposed to be a team now, but the general still seemed to be running everything. It was unsettling, but Aaron didn’t know what to do about it. “Fine,” he said, frustrated. “What’ll I worry about, then?”
The general glared at Aaron. “You’ll worry about getting your weak little self back to the palace,” he said. “You’ll make me some more oil. And you’ll stay out of my way. That’s how this team is going to work.”
Aaron narrowed his eyes and set his jaw. He hated General Blair now more than ever. But he needed General Blair. Now more than ever.
When Aaron held his tongue, the general smiled. “Good. I’m glad we’ve reached an understanding.” He stood up, signaling the end of the meeting. Reluctantly Aaron and Liam stood too, Aaron fuming over the shoddy treatment, but unable to do anything about it. General Blair ushered them roughly to the door with a final, ominous warning: “Prepare to secure the palace, locking yourselves inside. I’ll send soldiers when the time comes. We attack in four days.”
A Messy Escape
After adding magic to the extra magic carpet components Sky had made, Alex’s ability to concentrate was spent. But even as tired as he was, he tossed and turned all night, knowing that the morning could potentially bring disaster. What if he transported the ship too far away? What if the Artiméans couldn’t reach it with their flying carpets before the spells wore off and everyone crashed into the sea? What if Spike couldn’t swim out of the grasp of the rough undertow, or Florence was too heavy for the carpets, or the wind was too strong and swept them up into the sky? What if Alex couldn’t get to sleep tonight, leaving him without the proper concentration in the morning to transport the ship?
And where was Simber? Alex had been tempted multiple times to send a seek spell to Artimé, but he didn’t want anyone to worry or think there was trouble here—especially if it was trouble there that was keeping Simber away. So he refrained. But now, thinking of all the things that could go wrong, Alex wondered if he’d made a mistake by listening to Sky and trying to handle this escape without the giant beast.
But then again, everyone was beyond restless. The rain was driving them mad. There was no way they could stay here indefinitely. Florence and Sky were both right—they didn’t need Simber. They could do this.
“It still wouldn’t hurt if you showed up, you know,” Alex muttered. He rolled over and tried anew to sleep. But there was always so much to worry about. At least he didn’t have Sky on his mind constantly.
Yeah, right. But thankfully she didn’t seem to be as miserable without him as he was without her. And they were working at becoming friends again, so that was good, wasn’t it? It would have to be enough.
Finally Alex fell into a deep sleep. And when he woke up, it was very nearly time to go.
» » « «
With the hour of calm fast approaching, the Artiméans said hasty good-byes and thanks to Ishibashi, Ito, and Sato, who offered them a crate of food to store on the ship to keep them from starving on the way home. Soon Florence announced that the storm was lessening, so they all filed outside, hopefully for the last time.
“You all know what to do,” Alex said, knowing there was no time for a lengthy announcement. “Teamwork. Let’s go! See you all safely on board within the hour.”
With that, Lani peeled off from the group and sprinted to the leeward side of the island to give Spike her instructions. The others quickly made their way to the shore where the ship sat. It was not pristine and polished as it had once been, but hopefully with a bit of magic and a little luck, it was sound and functional. They’d find out soon enough.
Alex didn’t waste any time. “Squirrelicorns, to the sky!” he cried. “Everybody else stand back and be ready with your carpet components. You have about ten minutes of flying time to make it all the way to the ship before the spell wears off, so don’t waste a second.”
Florence hoisted the crate of food to the main deck and stood back as Alex patted the ship’s side. “Everybody ready?” he called out.
“You can do it, Alex,” Florence said. “Just like last time. You’ve got the touch.”
Alex grinned. Her confidence in him erased some of his jitters. “Okay, here goes,” he said, glancing one more time at the spot he’d been envisioning for days—the spot where the sunlight made the waves sparkle beyond the oppressive weight of the storm.
He let his hand rest on the side of the ship and closed his eyes, feeling the light rain against his cheek, and the wind, steady but not overpowering. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Alex cleared his mind of everything except that spot in the sunshine. He concentrated on it, picturing the ship sailing there, outside th
e realm of crashing waves and under the clear skies and warm sun. He could feel peace come over him, and when he was ready, he whispered, “Transport.”
In a flash, the ship disappeared. Alex opened his eyes and put his hand to his forehead, squinting to watch for it. It would be hard to see from this distance, but hopefully not impossible.
“Does anybody see it?” Alex called anxiously.
The others were straining to find it too, but so far no one had spotted it. Not even Florence from her height.
Alex looked up. “Squirrelicorns?” he called. “Anything?”
Florence signaled everyone to be ready to throw their carpet components down.
After an agonizing minute of silence as the squirrelicorns glided in a circle overhead, one of them nosedived toward the ground and swooped in front of Alex. “It’s in the water, but on the opposite side of the island, sir!”
“Drat!” muttered Alex. “There always has to be some problem.” He looked in the other direction, but couldn’t see over the rock shelter. “Is it clear of the storm, at least?”
“It looks to be, sir! Enjoying open water, nice and calm.”
“And not sinking?”
“It doesn’t appear to be.”
“At least there’s that.” Alex looked at the others, rapidly reassessing the situation. “Change of plans. Let’s save the spells for now and run to the other side of the island. Then cast your components and go—you’re on your own! There’s no time to waste.”
The Artiméans made a frantic dash for the other side of the island while the precious minutes of the hour of calm ticked away. Alex followed the others, hanging back with Florence, who was trying to help Captain Ahab maneuver over the rocky ground more quickly.
When they’d made it halfway to the other side and it was clear that Captain Ahab could move no faster on his wooden leg, Alex called out to the squirrelicorns. “Three of you take Captain Ahab now, will you, so he doesn’t get left behind?”