men. Cursing, they ran about in confusion to get away from the jets of fire. But the knights commanding them drove the men back to the moat with their swords and made them scoop up water to put out the flames.
“Who cares if they bail out the whole moat?” said Albert as the Book of Magic shut itself with a self-satisfied sigh.
“Those catapults are finished. I wrecked half a dozen others yesterday. Look at those fools slopping water all over their hands. They’ll have webbed fingers by noon.” He turned to Igraine and the Sorrowful Knight with a pleased smile. “How did you like my fireworks show? First-rate magic, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, definitely first-rate,” Igraine agreed. “But you’d better take a look down there now. They’ve nearly finished building their wooden bridges.”
“So they have. Busy, busy little bees,” commented Albert, looking bored. “Why don’t you call in the snakes to deal with that, little sister? They’re happier to obey you than me. Hey, what’s going on there?” He snapped his fingers, and a hail of burning arrows shot by Osmund’s archers to set fire to the drawbridge turned above the moat in an elegant curve. Albert snapped his fingers a second time, and the arrows hissed back toward the startled archers, leaving a fiery tail behind them. Terrified, the men raised their shields, but the arrows buzzed around them like giant dragonflies all aflame and attacked the archers from behind. Soon every arrow was chasing an archer through the camp.
Igraine would have loved to watch the rest of the show, but Albert was right — it was time to call in the snakes. Presumably they were down on the bed of the moat, hiding from the unaccustomed noise that Osmund’s men were kicking up, but Igraine knew they would hear her all the same. A sharp hiss through her teeth, a dozen of Albert’s biscuits, and next moment the water around the water lilies was rippling, and three snakes raised their heads from the moat.
Osmund’s soldiers were so busy laying their footbridges across the enchanted water that they never even noticed the snakes. But the snakes had noticed them. They shot through the water, hissing angrily, coiled around the bridges, and squeezed them until the wood splintered. Five bridge builders fell into the moat in their fright, adding a few more fish to it.
Igraine shook her head at their clumsiness. “I thought this man Osmund could work magic?” she inquired. “We haven’t seen much of that yet. Oh, my word, Sisyphus!” she exclaimed, as the tomcat dropped a long fish bone in her lap, shimmering and suspiciously silvery. “Have you gone and eaten another of those knight-fish? I’m afraid I’ll have to shut you in somewhere.”
Sisyphus showed his contempt by catching a buzzing fly and consuming it with a loud smack of his lips.
“Oh, let him alone.” Albert came to his help, shooing his mice back as they raised their heads from his coat pocket and stuck their tiny tongues out at Sisyphus. “That’s all the knights deserve!”
But the Sorrowful Knight shook his head. “Show mercy to the men down below, noble Albert,” he said. “I know they have designs on your life and the lives of your family, but many of them aren’t doing it of their own free will. Osmund’s knights have dragged them away from their fields and their homes and brought them here. Where else would all these soldiers come from? Half of them probably don’t even know why Osmund is laying siege to Pimpernel.”
“Did you hear that, Sisyphus?” Igraine turned to her sulky cat with a stern expression. “No more of those silver fish, however good they taste. Otherwise I’ll let Albert turn you into a dog after all.”
“We’re not friends anymore,” growled the tomcat.
“But I’d turn you into a nice dog, Sisyphus,” said Albert, feeding the mice in his pocket with a few biscuit crumbs. “Osmund could never do that. His magic powers really aren’t anything special.
“Who cares if they bail out the whole moat?” said Albert as the Book of Magic shut itself with a self-satisfied sigh.
“Those catapults are finished. I wrecked half a dozen others yesterday. Look at those fools slopping water all over their hands. They’ll have webbed fingers by noon.” He turned to Igraine and the Sorrowful Knight with a pleased smile. “How did you like my fireworks show? First-rate magic, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, definitely first-rate,” Igraine agreed. “But you’d better take a look down there now. They’ve nearly finished building their wooden bridges.”
“So they have. Busy, busy little bees,” commented Albert, looking bored. “Why don’t you call in the snakes to deal with that, little sister? They’re happier to obey you than me. Hey, what’s going on there?” He snapped his fingers, and a hail of burning arrows shot by Osmund’s archers to set fire to the drawbridge turned above the moat in an elegant curve. Albert snapped his fingers a second time, and the arrows hissed back toward the startled archers, leaving a fiery tail behind them. Terrified, the men raised their shields, but the arrows buzzed around them like giant dragonflies all aflame and attacked the archers from behind. Soon every arrow was chasing an archer through the camp.
Igraine would have loved to watch the rest of the show, but Albert was right — it was time to call in the snakes. Presumably they were down on the bed of the moat, hiding from the unaccustomed noise that Osmund’s men were kicking up, but Igraine knew they would hear her all the same. A sharp hiss through her teeth, a dozen of Albert’s biscuits, and next moment the water around the water lilies was rippling, and three snakes raised their heads from the moat.
Osmund’s soldiers were so busy laying their footbridges across the enchanted water that they never even noticed the snakes. But the snakes had noticed them. They shot through the water, hissing angrily, coiled around the bridges, and squeezed them until the wood splintered. Five bridge builders fell into the moat in their fright, adding a few more fish to it.
Igraine shook her head at their clumsiness. “I thought this man Osmund could work magic?” she inquired. “We haven’t seen much of that yet. Oh, my word, Sisyphus!” she exclaimed, as the tomcat dropped a long fish bone in her lap, shimmering and suspiciously silvery. “Have you gone and eaten another of those knight-fish? I’m afraid I’ll have to shut you in somewhere.”
Sisyphus showed his contempt by catching a buzzing fly and consuming it with a loud smack of his lips.
“Oh, let him alone.” Albert came to his help, shooing his mice back as they raised their heads from his coat pocket and stuck their tiny tongues out at Sisyphus. “That’s all the knights deserve!”
But the Sorrowful Knight shook his head. “Show mercy to the men down below, noble Albert,” he said. “I know they have designs on your life and the lives of your family, but many of them aren’t doing it of their own free will. Osmund’s knights have dragged them away from their fields and their homes and brought them here. Where else would all these soldiers come from? Half of them probably don’t even know why Osmund is laying siege to Pimpernel.”
“Did you hear that, Sisyphus?” Igraine turned to her sulky cat with a stern expression. “No more of those silver fish, however good they taste. Otherwise I’ll let Albert turn you into a dog after all.”
“We’re not friends anymore,” growled the tomcat.
“But I’d turn you into a nice dog, Sisyphus,” said Albert, feeding the mice in his pocket with a few biscuit crumbs. “Osmund could never do that. His magic powers really aren’t anything special.
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