it, it would have to be now. But the rowboat tied up at the dock was far too small to carry him, and the water looked cold and uninviting.
Norman wasn’t a great swimmer, but he could probably out-swim the weasels, especially if they had to remove their armour before jumping in the water. But where would he go? How far would he get? His kept his best escape route in his back pocket. To reassure himself, he patted the back pocket of his jeans and felt the outline of the tiny pen and the few sheets of paper. If he dove in the lake now, he’d wreck the paper.
The weasel squadron brought him to a halt at the edge of the water and turned him to face the cliff. When he saw the cast-iron portcullis that barred the cave opening, he realized where he was: this was the dock from which Duncan and Cuilean had escaped so many years ago.
“Get in there,” a gruff voice ordered. The gate creaked as it was raised.
Norman hesitated for a moment. Even with his paper and pencil in his back pocket, he didn’t like the idea of being locked in a cave. Another poke from a halberd got him moving once again.
The cave was large enough that he didn’t have to duck to enter. The walls were smooth, carved from the rock by wind and water. At the back of the cavern, a set of stairs had been chiselled into the rock. The stairs climbed halfway up the wall to a tiny stoat-sized door in the rock face.
This was one end of a tunnel that led all the way to the castle.
Lochwarren Castle fell to the wolves at the very beginning of
The Brothers of Lochwarren
. Malcolm’s grandfather was king then. Bodyguards had whisked Malcolm’s uncle and father down this tunnel and to this cave, where boats waited to take them to safety. The wolves overran Lochwarren, but the two princes slipped away. Years later, Cuilean and Duncan would return to reclaim their kingdom and make Malcolm king.
It was strange to be here where it all began. The portcullis might be slamming closed behind him, but Norman felt strangely calm, as if he knew he was in the right place.
He hardly bothered with the mocking jibes of the guards.
“Whatever happened to that lumbering oaf of a giant who came to save the stoats?” one guffawed.
“Run off, I think,” another answered, chuckling to himself inside his helmet. “Like his friend the boy king. Just goes to show, you can’t trust a stoat … or his pet human. They’ll bolt on you as soon as you turn your eye.”
Norman took the tiny rabbit-made quill from his pocket and rolled it between his fingers. You don’t know how right you are, he thought to himself.
It was only when he sat down to actually write something that he realized what a jam he was in. He could write himself out of the cave, but to where? Where was he supposed to go?
There was no point going back home as long as Uncle Kit was messing with reality at the Shrubberies, and he didn’t want to return to Willowbraid without Esme. He could imagine the reception he’d get there if he came back alone. His face was probably already on another wanted poster.
In his back pocket he had Ambrose’s second copy of the Lochwarren description. That might work, but it would only bring him back to where he’d started that morning—in the meadow on the other side of the lake, looking down at this very cave. He’d never actually tried this, using the bookweird to move from place to place inside the same book. It wasn’t predictable at the best of times, and he had no way of knowing whether this would work.
No, the place he really needed to get to was San Savino. He needed to rescue Jerome—and Malcolm’s treaty map—before the library burned down. Norman was just delaying things. He’d wanted Malcolm with him, because he always felt braver with the feisty stoat at his side. But there was no delaying anymore. He had to write himself into
The Secret in the Library
.
Norman held the quill and squinted at the paper through the pink air of the highland sunset. In a
Norman wasn’t a great swimmer, but he could probably out-swim the weasels, especially if they had to remove their armour before jumping in the water. But where would he go? How far would he get? His kept his best escape route in his back pocket. To reassure himself, he patted the back pocket of his jeans and felt the outline of the tiny pen and the few sheets of paper. If he dove in the lake now, he’d wreck the paper.
The weasel squadron brought him to a halt at the edge of the water and turned him to face the cliff. When he saw the cast-iron portcullis that barred the cave opening, he realized where he was: this was the dock from which Duncan and Cuilean had escaped so many years ago.
“Get in there,” a gruff voice ordered. The gate creaked as it was raised.
Norman hesitated for a moment. Even with his paper and pencil in his back pocket, he didn’t like the idea of being locked in a cave. Another poke from a halberd got him moving once again.
The cave was large enough that he didn’t have to duck to enter. The walls were smooth, carved from the rock by wind and water. At the back of the cavern, a set of stairs had been chiselled into the rock. The stairs climbed halfway up the wall to a tiny stoat-sized door in the rock face.
This was one end of a tunnel that led all the way to the castle.
Lochwarren Castle fell to the wolves at the very beginning of
The Brothers of Lochwarren
. Malcolm’s grandfather was king then. Bodyguards had whisked Malcolm’s uncle and father down this tunnel and to this cave, where boats waited to take them to safety. The wolves overran Lochwarren, but the two princes slipped away. Years later, Cuilean and Duncan would return to reclaim their kingdom and make Malcolm king.
It was strange to be here where it all began. The portcullis might be slamming closed behind him, but Norman felt strangely calm, as if he knew he was in the right place.
He hardly bothered with the mocking jibes of the guards.
“Whatever happened to that lumbering oaf of a giant who came to save the stoats?” one guffawed.
“Run off, I think,” another answered, chuckling to himself inside his helmet. “Like his friend the boy king. Just goes to show, you can’t trust a stoat … or his pet human. They’ll bolt on you as soon as you turn your eye.”
Norman took the tiny rabbit-made quill from his pocket and rolled it between his fingers. You don’t know how right you are, he thought to himself.
It was only when he sat down to actually write something that he realized what a jam he was in. He could write himself out of the cave, but to where? Where was he supposed to go?
There was no point going back home as long as Uncle Kit was messing with reality at the Shrubberies, and he didn’t want to return to Willowbraid without Esme. He could imagine the reception he’d get there if he came back alone. His face was probably already on another wanted poster.
In his back pocket he had Ambrose’s second copy of the Lochwarren description. That might work, but it would only bring him back to where he’d started that morning—in the meadow on the other side of the lake, looking down at this very cave. He’d never actually tried this, using the bookweird to move from place to place inside the same book. It wasn’t predictable at the best of times, and he had no way of knowing whether this would work.
No, the place he really needed to get to was San Savino. He needed to rescue Jerome—and Malcolm’s treaty map—before the library burned down. Norman was just delaying things. He’d wanted Malcolm with him, because he always felt braver with the feisty stoat at his side. But there was no delaying anymore. He had to write himself into
The Secret in the Library
.
Norman held the quill and squinted at the paper through the pink air of the highland sunset. In a
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