Chantel took a deep breath. “And I think you need to tell us what happened to Miss Ellicott. And to the other sorceresses. If you know.”
Angry cries and murmurs from around the table.
Alone among the patriarchs, Lord Rudolph remained calm. “We’re aware of the situation, young Chantel.”
To her utter horror, Chantel heard herself say, “So what are you doing about it?”
“She dares!” cried one of the patriarchs.
“She questions us!”
“A mere girl!”
All the patriarchs were on their feet now. Hands flew to sword hilts. Lord Rudolph made a gesture, and the men’s hands dropped to their sides.
“What we are doing is no concern of yours, Chantel,” said Lord Rudolph. “All you need to know is that we have the matter well in hand—and indeed, you do not even need to be told that. You should assume it. The only thing you should be wondering is what you can do to help us. And the answer is you can hand over that clue, now, like a good girl.”
He held out his hand.
It was really difficult to believe you had a right to argue when you were confronted by wise-looking men telling you that you did not. Chantel looked at Anna and Bowser. They looked back, clearly waiting to see what Chantel would decide.
Chantel took a deep breath. “If I hand over the words, then I would like to know that in return you’re going to take away Mrs. Warthall, who beats us and doesn’t let us learn anything and makes us eat cruel and—gruel and offal.”
“You have no right to ask anything in return,” said Lord Rudolph.
Fury rose up in Chantel. She and Anna had searched all night for the spell. They and the other girls had found it. She and Anna and Bowser had risked the wrath of Mrs. Warthall, which was no small thing, to come down here. And for all their trouble, they were being treated as if they had done something wrong.
She could feel her face burning with anger. Her hands clenched. Her deportment was slipping away fast. Japheth reared up high on her shoulder, switching his head around furiously. He should have made himself ten feet tall. He should have grown a hood and fangs. He should have sprouted wings from his back and flown at the patriarchs, spouting flame.
Instead, the snake did the most useless thing he could possibly have done.
He crawled into Chantel’s ear.
6
WHICH IS, ON THE WHOLE, FIENDISH
It was a horrible sensation. Chantel could feel the snake inside her head, squirming about. But she hardly had time to think about it, because immediately she heard herself shouting.
“Well, that’s not the only thing I want!” she said. “I want to know what happened, because I think you know more than you’re telling us! And I want to know why sorceresses who can do magic have to listen to you, if you can’t do any! And I want to know what—”
“Chantel, shut up,” said Bowser urgently, grabbing her arm.
Chantel shrugged him off. “—what you’re doing to get them back!”
“Fie!” cried one of the patriarchs.
Even Lord Rudolph looked angry. “For your information, the sorceresses have been taken by the Marauders Without the Walls, who have offered to exchange them on condition that we tear down the wall.”
“How did any Marauders get into the city to take them?” Chantel demanded.
“She has no right to speak to us like that!” said a patriarch.
Lord Rudolph waved him to silence. “We do not know,” he told Chantel. “We suspect a weakness in the walls. A breach of the buttons. That is why you must hand over your clue to us immediately.”
“How would you even do the spell if you had it?” A part of Chantel was horrified at her behavior, but the snake in her head made it impossible to recover her deportment. “None of you is a sorceress.”
“Some of us feel we may have some magical talent,” said Lord Rudolph. “The sorceresses have monopolized the field of magic for long enough. Now really, Chantel, I have been quite patient with your impertinent questions. Be a good girl and hand over the clue.”
The snake wriggled against Chantel’s brain, interfering with thirteen years of careful training. “I am not a good girl,” she heard herself say. “Sorry.”
“Chantel—” said Anna nervously.
“In fact,” said Chantel. It was hard to think with a snake in her brain, but the pieces were falling into place. “If the Marauders want the wall taken down, or they won’t give the sorceresses back, and you want the spell, so that you can strengthen the wall . . . you don’t intend to get the sorceresses back, do you?”
“Why are we even listening to this fool girl?” cried a patriarch. “She must obey!”
“Seize them!” roared another. And Lord Rudolph said something in protest, but it wasn’t heard as the chairs were overturned and the patriarchs came charging around and over the table in an angry wave.
Chantel, Anna, and Bowser fled.
They ran down the hall, the patriarchs thundering after them. They dodged through the clerk’s office—Mr. Less jumped hastily aside—and out into the gloom of the Hall of the Dead, a dark maze of tombs.
“Bar the door!” It was Sir Wolfgang’s voice, panting. “Don’t let them get out!”
And Chantel saw the patriarchs moving through the darkness, running to block the exit.
Chantel, Anna, and Bowser ducked down in the black shadow of the tomb of King Fustian the First, whose square face Chantel had described to Miss Ellicott. The patriarchs’ voices rang out as they called to each other, searching among the tombs in the darkness.
In a story, Chantel thought wildly, we’d lie on top of the tombs and pretend to be statues, and in a story that would actually work.
In real life it wouldn’t. Chantel could see two of the patriarchs moving closer. They were going around each tomb, kicking at the shadows with their heavy boots.
Bowser twitched at Chantel’s sleeve and pointed with his nose. Staying low, the three of them slipped over to the next row of tombs.
“I heard something!” called a patriarch. “All of you be still.”
The patriarchs fell silent, and Chantel and her friends froze, not breathing. Chantel could hear blood pounding in her ears. (The snake had calmed down for the moment.)
“Think they’re inside a tomb?” called one of the patriarchs.
“No, we’d have heard them lift the lid.” It was Lord Rudolph’s voice. “We’ll find them. Circle around. Surround the tombs, then move in. Swords out, gentlemen.”
Chantel heard the rasp of swords being unsheathed. Heavy footfalls echoed through the great stone hall as the patriarchs circled, closing in.
She looked around frantically. In the gray gloom it was hard to see anything. A cold draft hit her face. It came from somewhere off to the left.
“The crypt,” she whispered. “Now!”
And she ran, praying the others would follow.
“There they go!” roared a patriarch.
Chantel could hear Anna and Bowser close behind her. The patriarchs rushed toward them. The gaping mouth of the crypt was just ahead.