“Seems to be,” said Franklin.
“I think so,” said Anna.
“The cart’s wrecked,” said Holly. “But look, we found this!”
She waved a small gold crown, just a circlet, really.
“That looks very valuable,” said Anna. “Perhaps Lightning ought to put it in a treasure chest.”
Chantel hooked the circlet on her finger, and took it to the dragon.
He blinked an orange-gold eye at it. “Not mine,” he croaked.
“But shouldn’t you put it somewhere for safekeeping? It might get damaged or lost or—” Chantel didn’t want to say stolen. She couldn’t imagine any of the girls would try to steal it. Then again, she didn’t know. You couldn’t count the way they’d behaved at Miss Ellicott’s School as real deportment, perhaps.
The dragon’s eyes glowed dangerously. “Not. Mine.”
“Okay,” said Chantel hastily. “Well, I’ll, um, find somewhere to put it.”
But she didn’t, not right away. She stuck it in one of the many inside pockets of her dragon robe.
Franklin and Chantel climbed the tunnel to Bannister Square.
The rain had stopped. The last of it was sluicing down the steep gutters, winding its way around the twisting streets. People were everywhere. And they were doing one of two things: standing in line or marching.
If they were boys or men, they were marching. Chantel and Franklin passed columns of unlikely-looking soldiers everywhere, bearing swords, spears and crossbows, trying to stay in formation as they rounded quirky bends in streets not made for marching.
The girls and women were standing in line, at shops and market stalls.
“Shortages and rationing,” said Franklin. “And people panic, too. They want to get their share before it’s gone.”
“How are we going to find Bowser?” said Chantel.
“It won’t do any good to find him,” said Franklin.
“I just need to talk to him,” said Chantel. “Make sure he’s okay.”
Franklin shrugged. “They’ll have him drilling with new recruits the same height as him.”
“The same height?” Chantel looked at him to see if he was joking.
“Yes,” said Franklin patiently. “And he comes up to here on me.” He touched the bridge of his nose.
They found a troop of boys the height of Franklin’s nose down near Dimswitch, in a market square called Traitor’s Neck. There were at least a hundred boys, standing ramrod straight, in ranks and columns. They moved their arms and stamped their feet in response to the things a guard captain standing on a box yelled, which sounded to Chantel like “Hut! Hop! Yop! Yup!”
The boys weren’t wearing uniforms—there probably weren’t enough to go around—but they were all wearing floppy gray hats. That and the fact that they were all exactly the same height made it very hard to tell them apart. Chantel hurried along, peering at their faces, trying to find Bowser.
“Don’t,” Franklin had said, once, and then he faded into the background.
None of the boys looked at Chantel as she scanned their faces. They all stared straight ahead and hopped and yopped on command.
Then suddenly she saw Bowser, near the middle of the formation. His floppy cap was at exactly the same angle as everyone else’s floppy cap, the loose empty space creating the impression that there wasn’t very much room for a brain. This made Chantel sad, because it was what people tended to think about Bowser anyway, but she was awfully relieved to see him. She turned sideways and worked her way quickly down the row.
She stopped in front of him. “Are you all right?” she whispered.
Bowser ignored her.
“What are they going to make you do?” Chantel whispered.
Bowser’s eyes flicked once in her direction, then he stared straight ahead. He hopped. He yopped.
“Listen, you can’t fight the Sunbiters. I’ve seen them. There’re too many. And we—”
“They’re in the harbor,” Bowser whispered urgently, still staring straight ahead.
“Halt!” yelled the commander.
All hopping and yopping stopped. Absolute silence filled Traitor’s Neck, except for the sound of the commander’s boots snipping the cobbles. He had a stick under one arm.
“We are all stopping our important military drill, essential to the defense of our nation,” said the commander, in the same loud voice, “because number 8-217 has to talk to a girl.”
Chantel realized she should leave now, but her feet somehow wouldn’t move.
Bowser continued to stare straight ahead, his face red.
“Maybe,” the man yelled, his mouth now three inches from Bowser’s ear, “number 8-217 wants to be a girl.
“Is that what you want, number 8-217?” The commander’s eyes squeezed shut and his face became all mouth when he yelled.
“No, sir!” said Bowser, very loudly, still staring straight ahead.
Chantel at that moment was feeling extremely grateful that she was a girl.
“Maybe,” yelled the man, “you already are a girl!”
“No, sir!” yelled Bowser.
This whole time nobody had looked at Chantel or even seemed to notice she existed. Nonetheless, she was the problem, and finally her feet listened to her brain’s commands and marched her away. She didn’t turn around as she heard the sound of the commander’s stick whacking repeatedly.
She felt the angry prickle of tears starting in her eyes. She did not let them fall. She had deportment.
“I told you,” said Franklin, who was suddenly by her side.
“Where were you?” she demanded.
“Not making a fool of myself like you,” said Franklin, without rancor. “You can’t interrupt a military drill, for the Swamp Lady’s sake.”
“That man is just nasty!” said Chantel. “I’m sorry, but he is. What’s the point of all that yelling and hitting?”
“To make them obey perfectly,” said Franklin, looking at the ground. “And to make them mad enough to kill someone.” He kicked a cobble.
“Does your father do all that?” said Chantel.
“There’s no way those kids can stand up to my father,” said Franklin. “It’s going to be a slaughter, once he gets over the wall. The streets will run with blood.”
“Bowser said the M—Sunbiters are in the harbor.”
“Well, yeah. That would be the sensible thing for them to do,” said Franklin. “Take the harbor.”
“But that woman and her daughter, the ones who gave us the stew—”
Franklin looked uncomfortable and didn’t say anything.
“Will they be all right?” said Chantel.
“Maybe,” said Franklin.
“Maybe’s not good enough!”
“Now you see why I hate the whole thing,” said Franklin.
Chantel thought, frantically. If she could get Lightning to come out, if she could fly over the harbor and flame everybody— Everybody would include the kind woman and her daughter.
“I’m going to the Hall of Patriarchs,” said Chantel. “And I’m going to tell them they need to give in to your father’s demands.”
“You’re wasting your time,” said Franklin, hurrying along beside her. “Men don’t do what girls tell them to.”