Flight From Blithmore by Jacob Gowans Page B

float.
    “Useless,”
he muttered to himself. He found Lord Oslan because of the green hat, but Lord
Oslan directed his attention elsewhere, behaving peculiarly. By standing on a
stump of wood, Isabelle’s father had his head above the crowd and was gesturing
to someone far away from him. Henry thought it might be Isabelle, but still
couldn’t find her. Then he noticed a man worming his way against a river of
people fighting for the Emperor’s attention. This strange man’s face was
painted half ivory and half ebony, contrasting symmetrically down the center of
his face with opposing colors around each eye and the lips. The effect made
Henry’s arm hairs stand. Lord Oslan caught the man’s eyes and pointed in Isabelle’s
direction. The painted man nodded, and his hand went behind his back as though
he concealed something there. Henry tried to see what that something was, but
either it was too well concealed or his eyes were still too dim from the
blinding fire.
    “There’s
Isabelle!” Maggie shouted.
    Isabelle
stood almost exactly halfway between Lord Oslan and the strangely painted man.
Almost all the pink bows in her hair had fallen out, making her much more
difficult to locate. Only twenty yards separated her and this mysterious man,
but with the mob the way it was, twenty yards was more like a hundred.
    Henry’s
instincts told him this man meant to harm her. He yelled for Brandol and his
apprentices. He tried whistling, waving—anything to catch the attention of his
boys, but the drumming and trumpeting made his efforts futile. Ruther and
Maggie helped, but still . . . nothing. All the while below, the man with the
painted face continued to close the distance between himself and Isabelle.
    Henry
couldn’t stand by and watch. On an impulse, he went to the edge of the roof and
sprang, but as his feet left the ground, Ruther pulled him back. “Honestly,
friend, do you want a broken leg? Will you be able to help her then? Use the
ladder!”
    Henry
climbed down half the ladder, then jumped. In a flash he was around the house
and into the street, but a wall of people obstructed him. The crowd hadn’t
seemed this impervious from the rooftop. He let Ruther and Maggie direct his
movement from the roof, but it took him too long to navigate through the crowd.
Their desperate gestures told him he had little, if any, time. Finally, he took
a deep breath, dropped his shoulder, and plowed through the crowd. People
shouted and protested, but he ignored them. From a distance that he did not
have enough time to cross, he saw the man with the painted face grab Isabelle
by the shoulder.
    Isabelle,
eyes wide in fright and confusion, turned to meet him. Henry pushed forward as
he watched the painted man bring his arm out from behind him. He held a long
black object. It looked plenty dangerous from where Henry stood. Then the man
bent forward a little as though he had to say something to her. Isabelle’s head
dropped as the man’s hand moved in farther. Henry shouted and shoved as he ran,
but he couldn’t reach Isabelle in time.
    The
man bowed, snapped up as straight as a taut rope, and turned to leave.
    When
Henry reached her, he saw Isabelle holding the object in her hands. “Are you
all right?” he gasped at her. “What is it? What happened?”
    Isabelle
handed Henry a heavy envelope made from black paper. The front appeared blank.
    “Let’s
go home,” he said, panting. “I don’t need any more excitement tonight.”
    They
pushed their way back to Shop Street, then to Henry’s front door. Once inside,
Henry held the envelope near a candle. There on the front, as if the light had
some magical effect, in thick shining letters as white as bone:
    To Miss Isabelle Oslan

 
     
     
     
    Fourteen -
    The Black Envelope
     
     
    Isabelle
turned the envelope over in her hands. The candlelight reflected sharply off the
richly drawn white letters, giving them a pale, but fiery appearance.
    “Who—who
would send me such a