Island of Dragons (33 page)

Alex jumped on the cheetah's back, and with barely an explanation, Simber knew exactly what to do. He landed on top of the mastodon. Alex slid off him and crouched low on the stone beast to avoid the sleep darts that were being blown at him. The world watched, straining to hear what was happening.

Whispers of “It's Ol' Tater!” went around the lawn. Within seconds the mastodon came alive and began stomping around on the pirate ship. Simber grabbed Alex by the robe collar before he could get flung off Ol' Tater's back, and they cleared the area, flying over to Artimé's ship and pausing on board for a moment to see what would happen next.

In a mad rush from the four vessels nearest Artimé, pirates and Warblerans began to abandon ship at a remarkable pace. Once in the water, many of them cried out for help because they couldn't swim. The pirates on the lawn stopped fighting and watched what was happening, and as the sun set behind the ships, they began running for the small boats on shore that hadn't been crushed by Simber. Shoving off in a panic, they retreated to their ships to rescue their drowning people.

» » « «

The Artiméans would sleep that night.

But the ships didn't go away.

W
hen all the pirates had retreated, Aaron caught his breath and decided he'd pushed his luck with Panther about as far as it could go. As the other Artiméans moved slowly back to the mansion, Aaron made the trip back to the jungle with her. And with his arm aching and no longer fit to throw endless amounts of vine spiders, he thanked her and said good-bye, promising he'd visit again when the war was over.

When he returned to the mansion, he went straight to his room, completely exhausted. And with the absence of the adrenaline came the growth of the aching from his multitude of wounds. He hadn't died. But he hurt so badly he almost wished he could. At this moment he was especially glad not to be the head mage, with all the responsibilities that went with it. He poured himself a bath.

Alex's first duty once quiet had descended on the island was to extend the hospital ward to a size it had never been before, adding fifty more beds so those injured who'd been deposited in the entryway for lack of space would finally have one. Even with the extra beds, the ward was nearly filled, and all non-injured and visitors were sent out of the crowded ward so the overworked nurses could do their best to handle everyone who needed help.

Carina came into the mansion, dropped her sword and shield, cleaned up, and started a shift in the hospital ward with hardly a blink of an eye. She knew the hospital workers were in trouble without Henry there, and she dove in to help.

Samheed, having been banished by the nurses from sitting at Mr. Appleblossom's side, retreated to the grand marble staircase. Lani sat with him.

Alex, unable to retire to his disastrous private quarters, and frankly not wanting to be there without Clive, got cleaned up in his old room in the boys' hallway and then joined his friends on the stairs.

Before long Sky came in search of them and sat down too. Weary, all four eventually stretched out and fell asleep on the stairs. Sky slept on the stair below Alex, Lani on the one above, and Samheed on the stair above Lani. Simber watched over them, pacing through the rubble, going from window to window to watch for movement and checking in with Florence, who patrolled outside.

During the night, Carina, finishing her shift and heading for bed, stopped at Alex's side. She watched the sleeping mage for a moment, then slipped a folded piece of paper into his hand. She shook her head sadly and continued up the stairs.

The feeling of the paper in Alex's hand woke him a while later. He sat up, forgetting for a brief, blissful moment about all the tragedy that had struck Artimé. But his stiff, aching body soon reminded him.

Alex held the folded note up and studied it, bleary eyed, until the words on it came into focus.

Dear Alex,

I am so horribly sorry to tell you this . . . Mr. Appleblossom has died. He left the enclosed for Samheed. Stay strong, my friend.

Love, Carina

Alex couldn't comprehend it. He read the words again. It couldn't be true. He leaned forward and put his head in his hands. Mr. Appleblossom was gone. The genteel, sensitive, passionate, iambic pentameter poet and instructor. The writer of many plays and musicals, like
Perseus! Perseus!
and
And Then Everyone Dies, The End
. Now
he
was dead. Alex couldn't process it.

After a minute, Alex looked up at Simber, a question in his eyes.

Simber bowed his head. It was true.

Alex stood and moved up to where Samheed was sleeping. “Sam,” he said, nudging his friend.

Samheed groaned. “What?”

“Wake up. I have some bad news.”

Samheed's eyes fluttered open, and a moment later he was shoving himself upright, wide awake. “What happened?”

“It's Mr. Appleblossom,” Alex said, his voice cracking. “Here.” He handed Samheed the note, unable to find the words to tell him that his beloved theater instructor was dead.

Samheed stared at the folded paper for a minute, unmoving, barely breathing. And then he shook his head. Slowly at first, and then faster and faster he shook it, and began whispering. “No,” he said. “No. No, no, no, no, no!” He sank back against the marble stairs and covered his face with his hands.

Alex wiped the moisture from his eyes and sat there, not sure how to help Samheed. Not sure it was even possible to do so. Like Mr. Today had been for Alex, Mr. Appleblossom had been a substitute father for Samheed when he needed it most. There was no comforting that loss.

After a while, Samheed sat up and looked at the paper again. The note was folded into fourths. He took in a steadying breath and unfolded it. Inside was another piece of paper, which had a barely noticeable pencil sketch of Mr. Today imprinted on it. “This is from Mr. Appleblossom's notebook,” Samheed said. He looked at the words.

For Samheed,
it read.

Below it, a few lines written in a shaky hand.

Good night, my son, and dream of victory. A man of greatest honor, you are he. Rise up and lead, and take these reins from me. A master of the theater you will be.

Samheed read the words. At “my son,” the tears came and began to drip on the paper. Hastily he dried it so the ink wouldn't smear.

Alex, doing the only thing he could think of, reached into his nearly empty vest pocket and pulled out one of the few components he'd had no use for that day—a preserve spell.

“Shall I use this?” Alex asked quietly, showing Samheed the tiny ball of rubber.

Samheed stared numbly, then nodded.

“Preserve,” said Alex, casting the component onto the note. It melted and spread, covering the paper in a nearly indestructible film, preserving the words forever.

“I wish there was a preserve spell for people,” Samheed said after a while.

“Me too,” said Alex.

Eventually their grief was overtaken by exhaustion, and they lay down on their steps and slept again.

J
ust before dawn, Alex was having a weird dream about the chef slapping him in the face with a salmon. It was slimy and wet, and try as he might, Alex couldn't get away from it. He shook his head and brushed his cheek with his hand.

“Ax,” said a little voice. “Ax!”

Alex vaulted from the tumultuous depths of sleep and opened his eyes.

“Hi, Ax,” said Fifer. She was sitting on the step next to his head, slapping her jammy hand on his face.

Alex sat up, dazed. “Hey there, little Fife.” He wiped his face on his robe, trying to make sense of what was happening. “What are you doing here?”

She held up her fig-jam toast and grinned. “Toes,” she said.

“Toast,” said Alex automatically, emphasizing the
t
at the end of the word.

“Tote!” said Fifer.

“Close enough,” said Alex. He gathered her onto his lap and looked around. Crow was nowhere to be seen. “How did you get here? You need to stay in the lounge.”

“She came up thrrrough the tube,” said Simber, whose head was completely outside the front window.

“All by herself?”

“Indeed,” said the cheetah. “Made a beeline for the kitchen. I've had my eye on herrr.”

“I didn't realize she could reach the buttons in the tube,” said Alex, worried.

Simber backed up and swung his head around inside the mansion. He nodded at the nearest tube. “She had a little help.”

On the floor of the tube was a small step stool that Kitten often sat on when playing her triangle in the lounge band.

“You're pretty tricky,” Alex said to Fifer, shaking his head admiringly. He knew he should get her back down to the lounge for safety, but her presence was somehow comforting, so he held her a moment more.

Fifer munched happily on her toast.

“Has anything changed?” Alex asked Simber after a bit.

“Somewhat,” said Simber. “All the ships that werrre stationed on the norrrth and west sides of the island have moved to this side. They eitherrr don't carrre about the Quillens, orrr they don't want them. They know we'rrre all herrre.”

“They also know we're all that's left for them to kill,” Alex said bitterly. He drew in a sharp breath, acknowledging the fact that the war would inevitably continue. He shook his head and absently smoothed Fifer's staticky hair. “I suppose I'd better get you back,” he said to her. “Sunrise isn't far off.”

Before Alex could get up, someone else arrived in one of the tubes. It was Crow, carrying Thisbe and looking fearful. “Simber,” he said even before he stepped out of the tube, “have you seen—”

“She's with Alex,” said Simber. “On the stairrrs.”

Crow dashed over to the stairs, relief clear on his face. “I'm really sorry,” he said to Alex, keeping his voice hushed because of the ones sleeping. “We were all asleep, and then I woke up and Fig was gone. How did she get here?”

“She used Kitten's stool to reach the tube buttons,” said Alex. “I'm not sure if she pushed buttons randomly until she found the right place, or if she knew which one to push to get to her beloved jam and bread, but she found it.”

Crow blew out a breath. “She's very clever. I'm afraid I taught her which one gets her closest to the kitchen, as I let them take turns pushing the buttons themselves. They love it so much.” He smiled apologetically. “Sorry again. I'll take her down now.”

“It's no problem,” said Alex, reaching out and tickling Thisbe under the chin. “It's really nice to see them, actually.” He considered telling Crow about Mr. Appleblossom's death, but he couldn't bear to. The news would travel soon enough once daybreak hit. He wanted to savor this moment—it would help him get through whatever was coming, he was sure of it.

Crow looked around. “Wow. This place is a mess,” he said. “How did all of this happen?”

Alex gave him a rundown of the events of the previous day. Before he could finish, Sky awoke. She sat up and stretched, and then added a few details that Alex had missed.

Crow stared, wide-eyed. “So is Ol' Tater still out there stomping around on that ship?”

“He is,” said Simber from the window, “and enjoying himself immensely. I'm about to go out and do a flyoverrr to see what's going on. I expect something will happen since the pirrrates and Warrrblerrrans rrrefuse to leave.”

“Go and check it out,” Alex agreed. “They probably just needed sleep like we did.”

Simber left, and soon Lani sat up, sleepy-eyed. After a moment she stood. “I'm getting food,” she announced, and made her way down the steps. “I'll get some for everyone.”

“Me too?” asked Crow.

“Of course,” said Lani. “And Thisbe. Toast with jam all around.”

A moment later, as the group talked quietly and Samheed woke up, Alex paused mid-sentence and listened. “Did you hear something?” he asked.