The Runaway Dragon (13 page)

“Just be glad we’re still alive,” Dilly told Spinach.

“Is she really going to cut my hair?” Spinach whispered.

“I’M GOING TO CALL YOU ROSALINA LILIANA,” Loris announced to Spinach. The giant child
poked Dilly, obviously less impressed. “YOU CAN BE THE FRIEND DOLL. COOKIE ANN.”

“Rosalina Liliana,” Dilly said to Spinach snidely, feeling a little miffed at her second-rate status.

“Cookie Ann,” Spinach replied through gritted teeth.

Dilly tried talking to Loris, but Loris kept saying “WHAT?” and quickly lost interest in actual conversation with her new toys. She seemed to prefer pretend conversation. “IS THE FRIEND DOLL SAYING FRIENDLY THINGS? COOKIE ANN WANTS MORE TEA AND CRUMBS, DOESN’T SHE, ROSALINA LILIANA?”

“Yes,” Spinach said. “More crumbs.” Anything was better than having her hair combed by Loris.

But Loris, when she went, must have forgotten about the crumbs. Instead she came back carrying the biggest pair of scissors Dilly and Spinach had ever seen.

The fortress guards marched Meg and Lex up a long flight of stone stairs into a huge throne room that looked like what Lex’s drawing room had always wanted to be when it grew up. The place was decorated entirely in dire metal and stone. Its floor was black marble, and it was lined with heavy matching columns that appeared to be chained into place—with chains whose links were each as long as Meg’s arm. More of the armor-clad warriors
lined the walls on either side. A dozen ravens flew overhead, scribing ominous patterns in the air and causing Meg to wince at the thought that they might drop something on her head.

At the end of the vast hall, someone was seated on an elaborate black-and-gold throne. The ruler of the fortress awaited their coming with evident disdain. After what seemed like an eternity of walking, Meg and Lex reached the throne, or were allowed to approach within ten feet of it. At that point, the nearest guard shoved Meg to her knees. “Bow before Her Supremacy the Empress of the Southern Reaches.” Lex got shoved, too, Meg noticed.

The figure on the throne stood up and stretched. “You can call me Malison.”

To Meg’s surprise, the ruler was a girl about her own age. Maybe she was even a year or two younger. Malison wore a slithery black dress. Her black hair was piled up on her head in snaky curls. Her skin was very pale, and her lips were very red. Black patterns swirled down her bare arms clear to her red-nailed fingertips.

“You’re just a girl!” Meg blurted.

“Just a girl?” Malison sneered. “I am a sorceress, the greatest magic-maker the world has ever known.”

Meg waited for Lex to challenge the girl, to tell Malison that he was a
far
greater magic-maker than she was. But he said nothing. Meg looked over at her friend, only
to find him staring at the sorceress with open envy. With envy, and with something more. Meg looked at Malison again, trying to see what Lex was seeing. Finally it came to her. When Lex wore black, he looked like he was playing dress-up. But on Malison, black was just perfect.

OU’RE AN EVIL SORCERESS, AREN’T YOU?” SAID
Meg.

“How clever of you to guess. What are you, a princess on a quest or something?”

When Meg didn’t answer, Malison started to laugh. “You are? How dismal of you!”

“What’s wrong with quests?” Meg asked.

“Everything
is wrong with quests. They’re so goody-goody,” Malison said, waving one hand dismissively. “Wait—is your quest to defeat me? Is that why you’re here?” She seemed a little too enthusiastic for Meg’s current mood. “You could try really hard, and then fail miserably, and then languish in my dungeons for …” The sorceress made a show of thinking deeply, then continued, “Oh, forever.”

Meg decided that she didn’t like this Malison person, and that she’d better not ask about Laddy. She probably
wouldn’t like the answer. “Do some magic,” Meg said to Lex under her breath, but he didn’t appear to be listening.

Malison smiled, shaking her head. “Did you just tell him to do some magic? Is he a wizard or something?”

Lex started. “I
am
a wizard, Empress. At your service.” Lex bowed awkwardly.

“Lex!” Meg said, but he wasn’t listening.

Lex took a step or two closer to Malison. “I know we just met, but I think your fortress, and your guards, and your hair, and your fingernails are wonderful, and maybe we could talk about magic together?”

Malison shot a triumphant look at Meg before she said in fake-nice tones, “Why, what a good idea. We’ll do that a little later.”

“If you aren’t going to do any magic, then I will,” Meg told Lex, not bothering to keep her voice down, since Malison apparently had the hearing of a bat, and for his part, Lex had gone deaf.

But this got his attention. “Now, Meg,” he said, alarmed, “that’s not necessary. I’ll, I could …” But then Lex looked at Malison and lost his focus. “Isn’t she
beautiful?”
he whispered.

“She’s gorgeous,” Meg said soothingly. To Malison she said, “What did you do, put a spell on him?”

Malison laughed again. Meg suspected she had practiced that laugh, which managed to be both tinkly and menacing at the same time. “I simply have this effect on
men.” She waved her hand at the guards. “It comes with the territory.”

“The evil-sorceress territory.”

“Of course,” Malison said smugly.

Meg began muttering a spell—muttering because that was how spells were always said, not because she thought Malison wouldn’t be able to hear her. Well, all right, Meg was a little worried that she’d mispronounce a word and Malison would laugh at her yet again. As it was, the Empress of the Southern Reaches didn’t seem at all concerned. Meg tried not to think about what that meant. The spell she’d chosen was supposed to cause a magic mist, which she thought might allow her to grab Lex by the wrist and get out of the throne room.

Meg finished the spell and tried to stand proud, a princess of Greeve in all her glory. Or in all her good intentions, anyway. Just because none of her spells had turned out right
yet
didn’t mean they never would.

As usual, something did happen. Behind her, Meg could hear several soft thudding noises. In front of her, Malison frowned, which Meg thought was a good sign. “What have you done?” the young sorceress demanded. She sounded more annoyed than anything else.

Meg turned to look. At first she couldn’t even tell what had happened. Then Malison said incredulously, “You turned my ravens into
waffles?”

Sure enough, there were a dozen pale brown squares dotting the black marble floor of the great hall. Not a
single raven remained—at least not in its former shape.

“Yes, waffles,” Meg said bravely, facing Malison. “Who knows what I’ll do next?” Which was quite true.

“I know,” Malison said, still annoyed. “You’ll sit in one of my dungeons while I decide what to do with you.”

“You can’t just lock us up,” Meg began, but Malison interrupted her.

“Us? No. Just you. Lex and I are going to have a nice talk and drink some tea.”

Lex’s glazed expression vanished. “Tea? She means hot chocolate, doesn’t she, Meg?”

“Hot chocolate it is,” Malison said quickly, and Lex relaxed into a hopeful daze. Malison raised her voice. “Where’s my chief guard?”

Meg thought of Hanak, her father’s guard captain, with an odd burst of homesickness. But Malison’s chief guard, when he appeared, wasn’t anything like Hanak. In fact, he looked an awful lot like—“Bain?” Meg blurted.

Bain turned unfriendly eyes on Meg. “Do I know you, miss?” he asked.

But Malison answered before Meg could. “Don’t listen to anything the prisoner says. Just take her to the dungeons.”

“Yes, mistress,” Bain said, and there was warmth in his voice now that he was talking to Malison. But there wasn’t laughter. It shocked Meg to see his familiar face so serious, all of the deviltry gone from his eyes. He was
older now, which also surprised her. Of course he was dressed in black armor. Even his black curls were slicked back in a severe, but arguably eviler, style. Meg’s heart sank. How had he come to be a dread sorceress’s guard?

Meg tried to keep her dismay from showing. “They
are
under a spell,” Meg told the girl. “That’s cheating.”

“Whatever. Take her away,” Malison said.

“Yes, mistress,” Bain said again, stepping forward.

“Wait,” Malison said. “I’ll admit I’m curious. How do you know my chief guard’s name?”

Meg lifted her head. “I’m not telling.”

Malison laughed, and this time her laugh wasn’t tinkly at all. “You’ll tell. When your flesh is rotting off your bones—or perhaps slightly before that—you’ll tell.”

“Lex!” Meg called. “Do something!”

But Lex didn’t seem to hear her. Instead he looked around, confused, as if trying to identify the source of the sound, even as Meg was escorted away by Bain and two other guards.

Meg did try to talk to Bain as she walked down a series of long dark halls and stone stairways, deep into the bowels of the fortress. But he wouldn’t listen. He was clearly following orders. Meg kept pestering him even though she could tell it was useless. She reminded the former bandit of the adventures they’d been through a year ago. His stoic demeanor only cracked once, when Meg said, “And then you threw a sword to Alya, don’t you remember?”

“Alya,” Bain said in a slightly different tone. He shook his head and gave Meg a little shove forward. “Alya is a traitor.”

“Traitor to who?” Meg asked, shocked.

“Why, to the empress,” another guard told her, as if it were obvious.

After that Meg really was silent until she reached her cell and was put inside. For an instant she dared to hope that Bain was faking, that he’d wink at her as he turned the heavy key in the lock and then come back later to let her out. That it was all part of another one of his elaborate schemes. But he didn’t even look at her as he locked the door and marched away with his two men.

“Well,” Meg said, sitting down on the narrow cot. “That wasn’t nearly as much fun as I thought it would be.” She wasn’t sure if she meant confronting the owner of the fortress or seeing Bain again, but it didn’t much matter, anyway.

Night fell over the dollhouse—or seemed to fall. It wasn’t actually night yet, but Loris had said that it was nap time and had thrown a blanket over the top of the dollhouse so her new toys would go to sleep while she went off to have her dinner. The blanket was very effective, and it took a little time, along with a new collection of bruises, before the captives could gather in the living room to talk.

“She’s a deadly foe,” Nort said. Everyone knew who he meant.

“She doesn’t mean to be unkind,” Spinach ventured. “She’s
cute.”

They tried to picture the giant Loris as cute. It wasn’t easy.

“She cut your hair,” Dilly reminded Spinach.

Spinach’s face fell, and she tugged at her hair, distracted. Spinach without her hair was a strange sight. Her pale locks hung lankly around her face, barely touching her shoulders. She hadn’t asked them any questions since her hair had been cut, which wasn’t like her in the least.

“Loris is a child,” Cam said. “It’s just our misfortune she’s so large, and our prison-keeper, too.”

“Misfortune?” Nort snorted in the darkness. “I don’t know which is worse, the squirrels or this.”

“Don’t forget that Meg and Lex are going to come back and help us,” Cam said.

“By doing what?” Dilly asked, but no one had an answer.

“We have to escape. It’s the only way,” Nort said.

They were all in agreement with him. The only question was how.

When Loris reappeared, she was not happy to see that her new dolls were in the living room. “NO, ROSALINA LILIANA. NO, COOKIE ANN. YOU SHOULD BE IN THE KITCHEN. YOU MUST STAY WHERE I PUT YOU.”

Then it occurred to Loris that she had brought food. “But since it is time for your supper, I will let you be in the kitchen for a little while.” There wasn’t really enough room around the table for five people, but Loris shoved and the five of them managed to fit into the kitchen, if not exactly at the table. They were very hungry by now, and Loris was pleased to see them eat their crumbs and bits of meatball with such enthusiasm.

After supper, Loris put her small prisoners back where she said they belonged, though she mixed up Crobbs and Nort, putting Nort to bed and Crobbs in the living room with Cam. They tried not to fuss as she jammed them into their respective spots. Being lifted in giant fingers that were far more careless than they intended to be was painful, Nort thought, especially when a body was already bruised from being banged back and forth inside a giant hat.

It was easier to be patient with Loris now that they had a plan for escaping from her clutches, of course. They were waiting for the moment when Loris and her parents would go to bed. Dilly thought maybe Loris would try to put every single one of her “dolls” to bed, too, but the giant child lost track of her attempts to make the captives’ activities match her own once supper was over. The five of them stayed where she had put them earlier, listening as Loris went up the hall to the bathroom. They could hear faint sounds of water splashing and of Loris complaining. Cam was certain face washing
was involved. He felt a flash of sympathy, recalling how he had avoided having his own face scrubbed when he was a little boy.