twin’s obediently open mouth, a little like a prim old maid checking a mantelpiece for dust. Then, with his other hand, he performed the same examination on himself. “The problem with your hydration is worsening,” he said a moment later, wiping his hands on his handkerchief before folding it neatly and putting it back in his pocket. “Your temperature is also notably higher than mine.”
“We are not as we ought to be,” said the twin holding the script, looking uneasy at the thought.
“Agreed. And I have neither the skills to discern the cause of the fault, nor the means to repair it.”
Harold hadn’t known the stone men could get sick, but before he wrote it off as his own ignorance, he sneaked a glance at Meg, who looked similarly puzzled.
The gentleman attending to the kettle looked long and hard at the silent giant across the river. “We must reconsider our approach to the problem in hand,” he said. “In the meantime, please join me in a cup of tea.” Temporarily thwarted, the two gentlemen perched neatly on the riverbank, their handsome horses standing by, eerily quiet and patient, not even eating the scrubby grass.
Harold turned his attention back to the enormous golem squatting on the hillside out of reach. Its craggy face might not have much in the way of facial features, but it was looking undeniably smug at eluding its pursuers so easily. Harold couldn't fathom how it had come down to earth without breaking, let alone how the two gentlemen planned to get it back up to Ilgrevnia, especially when it obviously had no intention of going.
Meg wriggled closer across the grass like a cat after a bird. “They've got swords,” she whispered to Harold, “but if they have more of those lightning guns they used at Ilamira, I 'spect they'll be in the saddle bags. We might not get a better chance to overpower them…”
Harold lunged for her, but missed. “Miss Spinner!” he whispered as loud as he dared. “I don't think I should let you do that!”
Meg turned back to him, her eyes owlishly round and indignant behind the glass of her spectacles. “You don't think you should let me? I don't see how you'd stop me.”
Harold thought desperately hard, trying to remember what Sir Percival had taught him. Not so long ago, Meg had wanted time to think; now she was all impatience… “I reckon we're more use to Amelia if we stay hidden. If they find out we're here, they'll know she must be about an' all!”
That stopped Meg, if not for long. “Well I can't just sit down here doing nothing forever!” And she darted back off the way they'd just come.
Back at the cave, she seized the fire sprite's gilded cage, threw open its door and shook the creature out into the open air, where he floated around in sleepy confusion, trailing smoke.
“Meg?” said Percival. “What did you see? What are they up to?”
Meg shook her head. “I'll tell you in a minute.” Then she turned to the befuddled fire sprite. “Go and find Amelia, Stupid! And then you damn well better come back and tell me where she's got to!”
9: THE OLD MAGIC SHOP
With each passing hour, it had become more and more obvious to Amelia that she was alone and would remain alone for some time to come. Night had fallen, and the City that had looked grim enough in daylight became a nightmarish jumble of dead stone by the stark light of the moon. Jagged black shadows had taken great bites out of the grey stone and left hiding places where a hundred horrid things might lurk. Any one of those shadows might hide a griffin or a dragon, or an unseen pit in the decrepit City, waiting for her to stumble into it. Rats scurried past her from time to time, intent on their own business. Amelia took a deep breath, shivering and trying to fool herself into believing it was only down to the increasing cold. Logically, she knew the half-tame wyvern must have abandoned them, caught up in its grudge with the griffin, but in her heart she couldn't help but
“We are not as we ought to be,” said the twin holding the script, looking uneasy at the thought.
“Agreed. And I have neither the skills to discern the cause of the fault, nor the means to repair it.”
Harold hadn’t known the stone men could get sick, but before he wrote it off as his own ignorance, he sneaked a glance at Meg, who looked similarly puzzled.
The gentleman attending to the kettle looked long and hard at the silent giant across the river. “We must reconsider our approach to the problem in hand,” he said. “In the meantime, please join me in a cup of tea.” Temporarily thwarted, the two gentlemen perched neatly on the riverbank, their handsome horses standing by, eerily quiet and patient, not even eating the scrubby grass.
Harold turned his attention back to the enormous golem squatting on the hillside out of reach. Its craggy face might not have much in the way of facial features, but it was looking undeniably smug at eluding its pursuers so easily. Harold couldn't fathom how it had come down to earth without breaking, let alone how the two gentlemen planned to get it back up to Ilgrevnia, especially when it obviously had no intention of going.
Meg wriggled closer across the grass like a cat after a bird. “They've got swords,” she whispered to Harold, “but if they have more of those lightning guns they used at Ilamira, I 'spect they'll be in the saddle bags. We might not get a better chance to overpower them…”
Harold lunged for her, but missed. “Miss Spinner!” he whispered as loud as he dared. “I don't think I should let you do that!”
Meg turned back to him, her eyes owlishly round and indignant behind the glass of her spectacles. “You don't think you should let me? I don't see how you'd stop me.”
Harold thought desperately hard, trying to remember what Sir Percival had taught him. Not so long ago, Meg had wanted time to think; now she was all impatience… “I reckon we're more use to Amelia if we stay hidden. If they find out we're here, they'll know she must be about an' all!”
That stopped Meg, if not for long. “Well I can't just sit down here doing nothing forever!” And she darted back off the way they'd just come.
Back at the cave, she seized the fire sprite's gilded cage, threw open its door and shook the creature out into the open air, where he floated around in sleepy confusion, trailing smoke.
“Meg?” said Percival. “What did you see? What are they up to?”
Meg shook her head. “I'll tell you in a minute.” Then she turned to the befuddled fire sprite. “Go and find Amelia, Stupid! And then you damn well better come back and tell me where she's got to!”
9: THE OLD MAGIC SHOP
With each passing hour, it had become more and more obvious to Amelia that she was alone and would remain alone for some time to come. Night had fallen, and the City that had looked grim enough in daylight became a nightmarish jumble of dead stone by the stark light of the moon. Jagged black shadows had taken great bites out of the grey stone and left hiding places where a hundred horrid things might lurk. Any one of those shadows might hide a griffin or a dragon, or an unseen pit in the decrepit City, waiting for her to stumble into it. Rats scurried past her from time to time, intent on their own business. Amelia took a deep breath, shivering and trying to fool herself into believing it was only down to the increasing cold. Logically, she knew the half-tame wyvern must have abandoned them, caught up in its grudge with the griffin, but in her heart she couldn't help but
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