“If you say so,” said the Headmistress, who, after all, cared only for the rules that tipped their hats her way.
“Paces!” squawked Hushnow. His screeching echoed up to the high ceilings of the Mystery Kitchen. “Turn around, you daft monkey! I can’t dawdle all day. I’m having a spot of manticore trouble at the moment and this idiot bike is no help at all!” A growl sounded faintly in the distance. Wherever Hushnow was, he was not alone.
September turned around. The Headmistress stood only a little taller than she. Their shoulders touched briefly, and then the Ancient and Demented Raven Lord began counting to ten. “One for sorrow, two for joy! Three for the bites I gave the Changeling boy!”
“But I have no weapons!” hissed September. She could feel it all closing in on her. The duel, the race, the walls of the Library, everything. She’d thought she left feeling helpless behind long ago—only we never leave helpless behind. It is a country in which we all hold passports. I am going to lose, she thought. I am going to lose quickly. Though at least I’m unlikely to be killed by a verb.
A-Through-L arched his long spine. His eyes twinkled at her. “September, I have known you since the only thing you wanted in the world was a slice of cake and I have never once seen you without weapons. At the very least, you always have me. You don’t need to know a lick of Latin! I know plenty! Latin begins with L! Just say what I say!”
September walked back toward her friends, counting her steps. Losing only means going home, doesn’t it? Back to where I came from. I would see Mother and Father and Aunt Margaret again. I would sleep in my own bed. But a hot desire not to lose stole through September. It burned out everything else. The Headmistress was a tyrant. She’d said so. You stand up to tyrants. That’s what all her father’s books said.
Did she know any Latin at all? City Hall had a Latin motto on the front of it. September wracked her memory searching for it. All that she found was that it started with F. Saturday and Blunderbuss very much wished they could help, but neither of them had actually heard the word Latin before and could not begin to guess what would happen next, except that it would probably be over quickly. Saturday twisted his opal necklace fretfully. He could not even enter the dueling grounds. The air around September and the Headmistress had gone hard as glass.
Hushnow cawed out: “Ten for the crown I’m going to prance around in while you all blubber and moan, see if I don’t!”
The Headmistress whirled around, her gray skirts flaring, showing fiery-colored petticoats beneath. Treacle, the butterfly, hovered behind her, and for a moment it looked as though the lady herself had a pair of bubbling wings of every color. She drew a quill pen from her hair and leveled it at September.
“Amo, Amas, Amat!” the Headmistress thundered.
The air before her quivered, then sizzled, then snapped open. Three knights appeared, slender and short and dreamy-eyed. They wore rose-colored armor with blazing hearts painted on their helmets and their shields, for the words the Headmistress had flung at September were I love, you love, he or she loves. One carried a sword, one carried a poleax, and one carried a lance. They each had their names engraved upon their magenta-and-gold breastplates: AMO, AMAS, AMAT.
Ell whispered urgently—September did not understand a word he said, but she repeated after her Wyverary, beating her voice into shape, hammering it into something strong and bold and fierce. She’d never made a battle cry before, but she did her best.
“Exsarcimus, Exsarcitis, Exsarciunt!” she cried out. The flying Reference Desks above startled and snapped into formation.
The air before September quivered, then bulged, then parted like a theatre curtain. Three fellows marched out, all very grubby and muscly and ruddy in the cheeks. They wore armor, too, but theirs looked like steel overalls with blazing hammers and needles etched on them, for the words Ell had given September were We fix, you fix, they all fix. One carried a pair of screwdrivers, one carried a saw, and one carried a wrench not unlike September’s own. They each had their names embroidered on a patch above their hearts: EXSARCIMUS, EXSARCITIS, EXSARCIUNT.
The soldiers flew at one another. Amo skewered Exsarcitis with his poleax. Exsarciunt fenced Amas deftly, sword against saw. They ranged all over the Mystery Kitchen while Greenwich Mean Time raged against them, flying helplessly up and down his brass pole. Finally, they managed to break each other’s defenses at the same instant, and both fell. Exsarcimus twirled her screwdrivers like six shooters and leapt onto Amat, piercing him through the heart on his pink breastplate. All six of them vanished into smoke where they collapsed, no more alive than the dust on an overdue book.