They had run out of octopus. Finally. Lightning was still sleeping off the effects of having fused the walls and burned the siege engines. Breathing fire seemed to take a lot out of a dragon.
Once he woke up, Chantel figured he’d be able to melt the grate . . . Miss Ellicott couldn’t have put an anti-dragon spell on it, could she?
If she had, they’d still be able to escape through the underwater passage.
Just in case that was necessary, Franklin taught the girls to swim.
And Holly, who had a knack for such things, put together a makeshift fishing rod and caught some peculiar-looking fish.
After they had eaten the fish, Chantel went to dispose of the guts. She carried the bundle far away from the dragon’s lair because fish guts don’t make very good company.
She wandered through passages, glad to be away from everyone for a bit, even if she did have her hands full of dripping fish entrails. She wasn’t particularly worried about getting lost. Long ago, someone had marked out routes through the caves with colored stones at every turning. She was following a route marked by glittering green stones now.
She reached a deep shaft and dropped the guts down it, hearing them sploosh far below. She wiped her hands on a dripping stalactite, and then on the hem of her school robe. Then she sat down on a mushroom-shaped rock and thought.
Maybe Miss Ellicott was right, and she should do what the king said. After all, someone had to know best. That was what kings were for, wasn’t it? To know best. Even if they did usually become king by killing the old king. That was just human nature, wasn’t it? Didn’t kings really know best? Well, granted, this particular king seemed rather foolhardy. But kings in general?
She got up and strolled further along the passage.
She came to an odd little cave, almost perfectly round and domed, with stone benches in a circle. There was a painting on the wall. Chantel held her light-globe close and studied it.
The picture showed men and women, standing in a circle. A few of them were wearing purple robes with dragons on them. Lying behind them, half-encircling them, was a dragon.
Chantel looked at it for a while, then she walked on. She’d seen several pictures of people standing in circles, and she didn’t know what it meant. She wanted answers. She didn’t understand a lot of things. If only someone—
She saw a person coming toward her through the gloom.
Her heart jumped. She had an awful feeling she’d just done a summoning by accident. That seemed to be a danger of being good at something. Queen Haywith had warned her that if she summoned her a third time, there would be a price to pay.
The person coming toward Chantel wore a long red robe. And a circlet of gold around his head . . . a crown, Chantel realized.
“Who are you?” he asked. “And why don’t you curtsey?”
Chantel did a quick curtsey. Not a court curtsey, because there wasn’t room. “I’m Chantel. Who are you?”
“People don’t ask me who I am. I am the king, of course.”
“Which one, please, Your Majesty?” asked Chantel politely.
The king blinked. “Oh, so it’s that way, is it? Is this a summoning? Are you a sorceress? I am King Beaufort.”
“King Beaufort the Basically Benign?” said Chantel.
“Is that what they call me?” The king smiled. “This must be a summoning, then. Certainly nobody would dare call me such a thing while I am still alive. How long have I been dead?”
Why did people always ask that? “About three hundred years, I think,” said Chantel.
The king sighed. “Well, it comes to us all, I suppose. How did I . . . never mind. What do you want to ask me, sorceress?”
Chantel thought fast. She hadn’t been aware of wanting to ask him anything. “Um, well, it’s like this. We’re underground—”
“Yes, I can see that. We’re between the subterranean royal chambers and the draconic lair.”
“I’ve just been trapped here by the sorceresses—”
“But you are yourself a sorceress,” said the king, surprised.
“I beg your pardon, no. I’m just training to be one,” said Chantel. “But the sorceresses have locked me underground—”
“How can they possibly have done that?” said the king.
“They sealed the cave in Bannister Square.”
“And the dragon is party to your imprisonment?” said King Beaufort.
“He’s asleep,” said Chantel. “When he wakes up, I’ll ask him to—”
“You speak to the dragon?” said the king. “You’re a dragonbound sorceress?”
“I guess so,” said Chantel.
“Hm.” The king frowned. “I’m not sure whether I ought to help you or not. Who has imprisoned you?”
“The—” Chantel stopped herself from saying the king had done it. Kings probably stuck together. “The sorceress Miss Ellicott.”
“She ought to obey you, as you’re the dragonbound sorceress,” said the king. “Isn’t that how you girls organize things? I suppose you’re rather young, though. Well, if she’s used copper smelted under the full moon, the dragon’s flames may rebound into the tunnel and that would be disastrous.”
“Oh,” said Chantel. “Then—”
“But there is still egress through the castle,” said King Beaufort. “Or the underwater tunnel, if it comes to that.”
“The castle?” said Chantel.
“Of course. The green stone trail goes to the castle,” said the king. “As for the sorceresses, they shouldn’t be messing about sealing caves. They should be guarding the seven gates.”
“Seven gates of what?” said Chantel.
“Of the city,” said the king, giving her an odd look. “Are we not beneath the great walled city of Lightning Pass?”
“Yes,” said Chantel. “But there’s only one—”
“The sorceresses,” said the king, “are the keepers of the seven gates. But they are too trusting. They allow too many people in. They lack discernment. They would do better to be guided by wise men.” He looked up suddenly. “I hear something. You’d better go. It would be terribly unlucky if my courtiers were to waken me during a summoning.”
Chantel curtseyed, and watched the king leave.
Then she followed the way he had gone.
She passed through marvelous caverns, great halls bedecked with glistening stalactites and columns. Human hands had been at work here, fashioning seats hidden away in alcoves, and walks beside dark streams, and a long, curved bench that Chantel was sure must be intended for a dragon to recline on.
A green stone marked the path beside an arch that led to a steep tunnel hewn from the rock. The passage was too neat and precise to be natural. Yes, and it had steps in it, here and there.
And it ended abruptly, blocked by a pile of rubble that went all the way to the ceiling.
It must have caved in at some point in the last three hundred years.
Chantel picked up a slab of fallen rock and, with considerable effort and pinched fingers, moved it. There was an ominous rumbling, and several other slabs shifted and slid toward her. She jumped back. The passage had collapsed before and could collapse again. She hurried back down the human-made passageway.