“No,” said Anya, thinking fast. “We couldn’t get the frog sack up over that roof peak anyway. Let’s tackle the first guard through. I’ll take their weapon, we’ll hold them off until the carpet—”
Her words were lost as a great rush of air knocked her to the ground. Pathadwanimithochozkal the carpet flew way too fast over their heads, overshot the entire building, carried on to whip around a tall spire across the street, and came back somewhat slower to plummet down on the flat area between the peaks and slide right up to Ardent’s front paws.
But not without being seen from the ground.
Shouts came up from below, and there were whistles and general bellowing and carrying on of a variety that indicated a whole lot more guards and possibly sorcerers would soon be rushing up to the roof.
The carpet was too big for all of it to fit on its chosen landing spot, but there was enough space for the questers to lie down with the bulging frog sack between Anya and Smoothie.
“Where exactly are we going?” asked Ardent. “And is it less than thirty leagues?”
“The hut where Martha makes the soup in Trallon Forest,” said Anya. “I think it should be less than thirty leagues. I can’t remember and I can’t get the handkerchief out—ah!”
The exclamation was because someone had just appeared above them, precariously balanced on the ridgeline of the nearer roof peak. Anya only just managed to grab Ardent’s collar and pull him back as he tried to leap up at the intruder.
“Don’t get off the carpet!” she shouted. “Say the words!”
“Frogkisser’s Daring Midnight Raid on Right-Minded Sorcerers!” bellowed the intruder, yet another Gerald the Herald. She (for it was clearly a woman behind the fake beard, moustache, and wax nose-extender) put one leg over to come down, slipped a little, and decided to stay where she was. “Care to comment, Princess?”
“No!” shouted Anya as Ardent spoke the words and the carpet suddenly rolled them up, causing the hitherto silent frogs to start up a mass croaking.
“Oh greatest of all c-c-carpets, Pathadwanimithochozkal, please fly us safely and carefully to the hut of Martha who c-c-ooks soup in Trallon Forest!” gabbled out Ardent.
“Frogkisser Rescues Giant Sack of Frogs!” roared the Gerald the Herald, closely followed by “Aaargh” as the carpet took off and its slipstream blew her off the roof. Fortunately, she only slid down to another area between gables, and could lie there exulting in her exclusive news story, soon to be told to the ravens and spread to every other Gerald the Herald in the land.
Inside the carpet, the noise of the frogs competed with the howling of the wind. Since Ardent hadn’t asked the carpet to go slowly, only carefully, it had gone back to its previous speed, and possibly height, though Anya didn’t want to think about that. It was soon freezing again, the cold quieting the frogs.
“Shrub, you all right?” called out Anya, her teeth chattering. It was a little bit easier to bear the cold this time, because she knew they were going so fast it wouldn’t last very long.
There was no answer from the newt.
The cold intensified. Anya started doing frantic calculations in her head. She thought they were about twenty-five or maybe twenty-six leagues west of the forest, but also perhaps five leagues south. So it would be quite close to thirty leagues all added up. She knew there was a formula to work this out, involving triangles, but she couldn’t remember what it was or how to use it. She’d only read about it in a book, after all. No one had taught her any mathematics, not since her mother had helped her learn to count …
“I hope I haven’t made a mistake,” she said in a very small voice. She said it so quietly that none of the others had any chance of hearing. A small tear formed in the corner of her eye and trickled down, turning to ice before it was halfway down her cheek.
Anya blinked more tears away and told herself not to be silly. They had done so much already. Against great odds, they had got the ingredients for the Transmogrification Reversal Lip Balm. And she hadn’t lost Denholm, even if he was mixed in with dozens of other frogs.
Nothing has gone irreversibly wrong, she thought.
Surely, all will be well.
At that moment, the carpet flipped over and nose-dived towards the ground.
Everyone screamed again, with the noticeable exception of Shrub. Even some of the frogs came out of their cold-induced stupor and added their croaks to the general expression of fear.
The dive went on and on, so long that Anya knew it had to be because the carpet had gone beyond the thirty leagues it could fly. The magic had failed and they were going to smash into the ground and be killed. Duke Rikard would triumph, and Trallonia would become impoverished and miserable and Rob the Frogger would have no food and no shoes—
The carpet leveled out with a stomach-lurching jerk that almost made the bread they’d had on the boat reemerge from everyone’s stomachs.
Even feeling sick, Anya felt a surge of relief.
They were landing after all, not crashing into the ground.
“Thank you, thank you, oh most wonderful carpet Pathadwanimithochozkal!’ she cried out as they bumped down and slid to a halt. The carpet unrolled itself, spilling them out like the bowls across the green at the Sign of the Moon Inn.
Anya lay on her back, staring up at the stars that were twinkling between the great branches of an oak above her. She turned her head and saw the dim light of Martha’s cooking fire, banked coals gleaming, their light reflecting from the great bronze cauldron as little dancing spots of red and yellow.
Ardent shakily got to his feet next to her and lifted his muzzle.
“Ah!” he said, sniffing deeply. “Trallon Forest!”
“Is there a lake or a river near?” asked Smoothie. “I need a proper wash again, to get this soot off.”
“Lots of little streams around,” said Anya. She sat up and looked over at Shrub.
“You all right, Shrub?” she asked.