The Magician's Tower by Shawn Thomas Odyssey Page B

morning, however, Oona was no closer to solving the clue than when she’d first received it. Thememory of Isadora’s voice continued to pester her: “Easy as one, two, three.”
    Oona’s eyes were so dry and red that they felt as if they might catch fire. More than half the night she’d spent lying awake in bed, and yet it had not been the clue on the ribbon that had kept her from sleep so much as the problem of the missing punchbowl.
    At the breakfast table, she found her uncle hurriedly stuffing a biscuit into his mouth and looking highly agitated.
    â€œI’m afraid I’m going to need your assistance,” the Wizard said. “I know you have the contest to think about, but there has been another incident concerning the throttler’s silk problem in the garment district.” He held up a note with charred edges, indicating that he had been sent a note via flame. “I just received word that a swath of the faerie fabric has come to life and tied itself around a merchant and his wife. It is refusing to let them go. I know that I relieved you of your apprentice duties during the contest, but this silk business has gotten dreadfully out of control.”
    Oona looked forlornly at the clue in her hand and sighed. “Of course, Uncle. But the contest starts at noon, and I still haven’t figured out this clue.”
    The Wizard glanced at the clock over the door. “It is eight o’clock now. That should leave plenty of time. Samuligan, ready the carriage.”
    Samuligan snapped his fingers, silvery sparks shooting from their tips. He spun dramatically around and then disappeared through the servant’s entrance on his way to the stable.
    Wonderful
, Oona thought gloomily.
Just what I need: more distractions
.
    It was a selfish thought, she knew. Her uncle would not have asked for her help unless he truly needed it, and it sounded as if this enchanted silk might be quite dangerous. Helping the merchant and his wife was surely more urgent than solving the contest clue, yet Oona began to wonder if she would ever have time to figure it out.
    It’s my own fault for not spending more time on it yesterday
, she thought reproachfully, and then quickly grabbed a muffin before heading out the front door.
    Several minutes later she climbed into the carriage beside her uncle, unable to escape the nagging thought that Isadora already had the answer to the clue, and that she had learned the answer from the stolen punchbowl. There was simply no other explanation.
    The carriage clacked over the cobbled street, taking them past Oswald Park and then the shopping district, where candlestick trees lined the sidewalks glowing faintly in the morning mist. A large sign outside the Dark Street theater read:
    BE AMAZED ! BRING YOUR FRIENDS !
ALBERT PANCAKE
IS
THE MASTER OF TEN THOUSAND FACES
ONE WEEK ONLY
TICKETS GOING FAST !
GET YOURS AT THE BOX OFFICE TODAY !!!
    â€œLook, Oona,” the Wizard said. “A new show. Looks fascinating.”
    â€œHmm?” she intoned, looking vaguely at the sign. “Oh, yes, I suppose. But tell me, Uncle, why do you think all of this throttler’s silk is showing up? Where is it coming from?”
    â€œThat is just the thing,” the Wizard replied. “There is only one place it
could
come from.”
    â€œFaerie,” Oona said, and suddenly her stomach felt as if it had been twisted into a tight knot. “And there is only one person I can think of who knows how to get through the Glass Gates.”
    Deacon shook his head grimly on her shoulder. “Red Martin.”
    Oona and the Wizard nodded in agreement, and the three of them fell decidedly quiet for the remainder of the trip. It wasn’t until Samuligan pulled the carriage to the side of the road that the Wizard broke the silence.
    â€œOh, dear, this is no good at all!” he exclaimed, throwing open the compartment door and leaping to the curb. It took Oona a