The Blackthorn Key

Smoke burned my throat. I tugged on Lord Ashcombe’s tabard again. His eyes flicked toward me.

Oswyn spoke to the others, his voice shaking. “Search the room. Look everywhere. Find the recipe.” Then he turned to me, huddled against the oven with Lord Ashcombe. “Thank you,” he said. He actually seemed to mean it.

His apprentices stayed where they were. Wat panted in the corner, finally having put out the flames on his shirt. The Elephant stared in terror at the broken test room.

“Move,” Oswyn said to them.

Still the air buzzed. I tugged at Lord Ashcombe’s tabard again, then moved my eyes deliberately toward the open mouth of the oven. Lord Ashcombe followed my gaze, then looked back at me. I nodded, slightly. I couldn’t tell if he understood.

The Elephant frowned. “Master?”

“What is it?” Oswyn said, still shaking.

“The ceiling’s on fire.”

The Elephant pointed. Stuck to the stone overhead, a fuse raced, hissing, toward a cylinder, camouflaged gray with ash, glued to the ceiling with dried egg and flour.

Oswyn looked around the room. At four more places on the ceiling, cannon fuse crackled, ignited by the flames from the Archangel’s Fire. At the end of each, waiting, was another stick, glued fast.

Oswyn’s eyes went wide.

I grabbed Lord Ashcombe and pulled. With the last of his strength, he dived into the mouth of the oven. I clambered in beside him, pressed my head against his, and covered our ears.

The burning fuses reached the sticks.

“Dear God,” Oswyn said.

This time, God spoke back.





CHAPTER


36


A BAD DREAM.

My eyelids fluttered.

That’s all, I thought. Just a bad dream. Go back to sleep.

No, a familiar voice said. Wake up, Christopher.

Master? I said. My head was killing me. Is that you?

Yes, he said. I need you to wake up now.

Please, Master. Just a few more minutes. I’ll get the shop ready soon.

No, Christopher. He poked me in the back. Pain. You have to get up. Now. Hurry.

I groaned.

My head was killing me.

I opened my eyes. At least, I think I did. It was dark.

Was I awake?

Was I alive?

It hurt everywhere. I didn’t think that was supposed to happen when you were dead. My ears rang like I’d spent the night in the belfry at Saint Paul’s. Every bone in my body felt like an elephant had stomped on it. A real one.

I rolled over. I half crawled, half fell from the mouth of the oven to the stone below. My body whumped against the floor, sending new bolts of agony everywhere. I lay there for a moment, unable to move.

My eyes stung. My nose was stuffed with smoke and copper. Something jabbed into my back like a dagger where my master had poked me. I twisted my arm behind me, fingers grasping. It was a piece of stone, stuck in my flesh like an arrow.

I pulled it out. My howl was the first sound I made.

There was light now, if that’s what you’d call it. The air was thick with a dust cloud of stone. Everything was a haze of gray. I looked around what was left of the lab.

The ceiling had collapsed, crushing the broken workbenches below. Paper was everywhere, floating, flaming, dotted with shattered glass fragments that glinted like diamond powder. In one corner, a pile of parchment burned lazily.

I looked at the oven, our sanctuary against the five sticks of Archangel’s Fire that I’d glued to the ceiling. Lord Ashcombe lay inside, his chest slowly rising and falling. The iron furnace was gray with ash. One side was bent inward, as if shot by a giant cannon.

That was where my head had been. I touched my hair. It sent a wave of pain over my skull. I curled up on the floor, gasping, until the throbbing subsided.

I tried to stand. My legs wouldn’t obey. Drops of red splattered on the stone beneath my face. It was a minute before I realized they were coming from me. My ears were bleeding.