Fridays With the Wizards by Jessica Day George
She hadn’t been allowed in the weapons gallery until very recently. When it first appeared, it had thrown the Castle into an uproar. The first things anyone had touched had shot out bolts of lightning or, at the very least, stung the person’s fingertips. Bran and Pogue had carefully gone over each item to figure out what its uses were and defused the ones that were dangerous.
Even then Bran had wanted to keep the weapons gallery closed, but King Glower had objected. He didn’t like keeping secrets from his people, and it actually made the maids more nervous to think that there was a room they couldn’t clean because it was too dangerous. So Bran had carefully given tours to all the staff, and then to his family and the Council, and no one had been injured. But he still checked every week to make sure that the weapons were in their proper places and not throwing off strange sparks or odors.
While Bran had been giving the family a tour, he had made the mistake of explaining to Rolf the lance that shot lightning. Bran had showed them all how it worked because Rolf wouldn’t stop asking, and Bran seemed to think that, if Rolf ever did steal it, at least he’d know how to use it properly. Their mother had made Rolf swear a solemn oath not to ever touch the lance again, and Rolf had reluctantly done so.
But Celie hadn’t.
There were actually four copper lances that shot lightning. Celie located the shortest, lightest one. It had a small pack that was worn on the back and connected to the lance with a coil of wiring. Celie pulled on the pack over her jerkin and picked up the lance in trembling fingers. She had put the lockbox on the pedestal where the lance had rested, so she hurried to adjust the tiny knobs on the side of the lance’s grip that turned on the lightning power. The long copper rod began to hum and grew warm in her hands, and Celie carefully switched it to her left hand and took the lockbox in her right.
“Now I’m ready,” she told the griffins when she came out of the gallery.
She straightened her shoulders, trying to settle the jerkin. The griffins sidled around her uneasily, sniffing at the jerkin and the lance. The younger griffins, including Rufus, didn’t seem to like the lance very much, and couldn’t calm themselves even after they’d inspected Celie and her weapon. But the older griffins went even stiffer, ignoring Celie as if she’d committed some terribly embarrassing faux pas. But now they faced the hidden panel with erect heads and half-raised wings, as though, even though they hated them, Celie’s weapon and sort-of-armor made them take matters even more seriously.
“I’m guessing these are Arkish?” Celie said aloud, but none of the griffins looked at her.
They just watched the hidden door and waited.
Chapter
21
And waited.
Celie didn’t know what to do after a while. The griffins remained alert, but she slumped against Rufus with the tip of the lance resting on the floor in front of her. Her nose itched, but she didn’t have a free hand to scratch it. She was desperate to know what had happened to Bran and Lulath, but she had no way of finding out.
No one had come to tell her to lock one of the doors, which could be good or bad. Perhaps Pogue and Bran had come, triumphant, out of the passage and into Lulath’s rooms. Perhaps they were using the other lockbox to close the passages, working their way up to the gallery. Perhaps they were fighting with Arkwright somewhere, or just waiting him out, as she was. Celie didn’t really know which of these options was better.
She had decided to fly Rufus to the main courtyard and get an update on the others, when the Castle gave a great heave. All the stones went an inch to the left and resettled, or so it seemed, and Celie nearly fell down.
But there was no accompanying twist in her brain.
“That wasn’t the Castle,” she whispered, her mouth dry.
Whatever had just changed had been Arkwright doing something to the Castle. Why had it never occurred to them before now: Arkwright might have made the secret passages! He had been there when his people had taken over the Castle, had tried to have griffins of their own, and failed. In retaliation they had created the plague and killed their own people.
“Or maybe it was Bran?” Celie said to Rufus, who was staring down the corridor, his entire body aquiver. “Bran could change something, couldn’t he?”
But even though Celie loved and admired Bran, she had to admit that he wasn’t a powerful enough wizard to do something that would alter the Castle against its will. No wizard alive was . . . except for Arkwright.
“Come on, Rufus,” Celie said. “Let’s go down to the courtyard and find out what’s happening.”
Rufus wouldn’t move. He was staring down the corridor. All the griffins were.
“What is it?”
There was a wooden panel on the wall at the end of the corridor. Because it was carved with pictures of people and trees, Celie had always thought of it as being part of the portrait gallery. It was fixed to the wall with large copper rivets shaped like nine-pointed stars, or at least, it had been.
Now it had swung open as if it had hinges, becoming the door to a passage that hadn’t been there five minutes before.
The griffins surged forward. Celie dropped the lance, dragging it behind her by the cord as she ran with them to the end of the corridor. One of the griffins peered into the darkness of the passageway beyond, then squawked and sat back on his haunches, looking at Celie expectantly. She tiptoed forward and looked inside. There was nothing as far as she could see. There wasn’t even a shelf with a lamp to light the passageway.
“Hello?”
No answer.
Celie slammed the panel closed, put the lockbox in the middle of it, and turned the knob. The panel fell toward her, and she pushed it back against the wall. She scooped up the lance in her free hand and started to go back to the door they were supposed to be watching.
A groan as though the Castle itself was in pain tore at Celie’s heart. There was a grinding sound and a quiver in the stones beneath Celie’s feet. The griffins turned like hounds on the scent and raced into the portrait gallery.
“There!” Celie cried, pointing with the lance, but they had already seen it.
A portrait of a man with a high forehead and a nose like the prow of a ship had swung away from the wall. Celie checked inside again, but still saw nothing but a darkened passage. She slammed the portrait shut and locked it. It fell off the wall and she let it, not even caring that the frame smashed on the stone floor. She wanted the picture tossed on the dung heap when this was all done.
The grinding and groaning and shaking had started again. But this time, it went on and on without stopping. Celie urged the griffins forward like bloodhounds, searching for new passages. There was one in the weapons gallery, and another halfway down the stairs that led to the next floor. Celie locked and locked, letting the doors fall down in her wake—there wasn’t time to set them back up again.
And still the Castle shook and groaned.
Celie’s stomach was churning. This reminded her too much of the distressed Castle sending her to Hatheland a few months before. She couldn’t bear to go back there, not alone! After the fourth door, she found that she was having trouble seeing because she was crying without noticing it.
She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and continued on.
After working her way down two flights of stairs to the winter dining hall, she ran into Pogue.
“Celie!” He gripped her shoulders. “Are you all right?”
“There are too many doors,” she said in a daze. “I keep closing them and closing them!”
“Good girl,” Pogue said, his face grim. “But have you seen Arrow?”
“What? No?” Celie looked around at her griffins, though, just to make sure. “I don’t have him. I thought you had him!”
“I think he’s . . . I think Arkwright took him. And Lady Griffin. And Lorcan.”
“No,” Celie said, and she nearly collapsed, slumping in Pogue’s hands. “He can’t have . . .”
“He came through Lulath’s room
Pogue let go of Celie and pulled the half-finished lockbox out of his tunic.
“I locked that door, and I’ve locked the others I’ve found,” Pogue said. “But I can’t find Bran or Arkwright, and there’s at least three griffins missing!”
“Go,” Celie said. “Find them. I’ll close more doors.”
“Are they all done upstairs?”
“Yes . . . no!” Celie felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. She never had locked the door she’d been guarding. The one that had been there all along. “There’s one left. I’ll take care of it. Find the griffins!”
“Right!”
He turned and ran in one direction and Celie went in another with her flock of griffins. Back up the stairs, down the corridor, another flight of stairs, and then along the gallery.
Celie drew up, panting, in front of the suit of armor and the wooden panel. But it looked just the same: shut tight and untouched. The shaking and groaning had stopped, and in the stillness all Celie could hear was her own ragged breathing.
And then it happened. Too quickly.
Chapter
22
The panel slid open, and Arkwright was there.
Celie’s eyes were nearly closed as she caught her breath, and she’d lowered the lance, which weighed heavy in her hand. The tip of the lance was stuck in a crack between two of the floor stones. She jerked upright and tried to heave the lance into position. It grated unpleasantly on the stone and made Arkwright hiss at her, stopping in his tracks. The griffins hissed back, and Celie tried to shout, but it came out as a sort of croak.
“Are you all that’s left?” Arkwright looked like he might laugh. “Are you all that’s stopping me? A little girl and her . . . pets?”
It was always a shock to see how tall he was. Celie wondered for a brief, stunned moment why no one at the College of Wizardry had ever questioned that he might be from another world. Really, he was frighteningly tall, with too much forehead and too little eye. He loomed over her now, smirking.
“Nothing amusing to say? No threats?”
“S-s-surrender,” Celie said. She was squeezing the handle of the lance, but nothing was happening.
“Surrender to you? Why on earth would I do that? You don’t even know how to hold a shockwand, let alone use it!”
That was when Rufus attacked. Celie wasn’t sure if it was because Arkwright threatened her or because of what Arkwright had done to the griffin earlier, but either way Rufus simply snapped. Screaming his battle cry, he leaped at Arkwright.
“No, Rufus!” Celie cried out, remembering what had happened last time.
But last time, Rufus hadn’t been surrounded by other griffins, also ready and eager to fight. Also, Arkwright clearly hadn’t expected Rufus to attack him.
Six griffins went after Arkwright. Six griffins, clawing and screaming and biting. All Celie could do was stare for a moment, feeling like she was in the middle of some terrible dream and couldn’t wake up.
Arkwright was screaming, but in the middle of his screaming, he lashed out with his long hand and a whip of fire slashed across Rufus’s face.
Rufus wailed with pain and Celie rushed forward, pushing between the griffins. She brought up the lance, trying to jab Arkwright with it and make him back off. The lance exploded, lightning shooting out of the end, freezing them all in their tracks as the lightning struck Arkwright full in the chest.
The wizard made a gargling noise and collapsed.
Celie threw down the lance and the power pack and screamed. She didn’t know what else to do. She’d killed him! She screamed and screamed while the griffins squawked and circled around her and Arkwright, sniffing at them both and snagging the hem of her nightgown with their talons.
“Celie! Celie! Stop it!”
Bran was in front of her, shaking her to make her stop screaming, but she couldn’t. Finally he put one hand over her mouth and wrapped his other arm around her in a crushing hug.
“You’re all right,” he whispered forcefully into her ear.
Celie stopped. Then she started to sob. “But I k-k-killed him!”
“No, you didn’t,” Pogue said. He was kneeling beside Arkwright. “He’s just stunned, Celie,” he assured her. “More’s the pity,” he muttered.
“The pity?” Celie’s voice broke.
“Pogue!” Bran snapped. “She’s upset enough!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Pogue said. “I’m sorry, Celie . . . I just . . . I shouldn’t have said that.”
“I didn’t kill him?”
“You just put him in a deep sleep,” Bran said soothingly. “The shockwands aren’t lethal. And besides, it’s very hard to kill a wizard.”
“Though he tried hard enough with you, Bran,” Pogue said darkly.
That made Celie settle down, so that she could take a good look at her brother. His clothes were scorched black in places, and he had a gash along one cheek and a burn blistering his left ear.
“Should we lock the door?”
Celie’s voice cracked and she sounded a little wild to her own ears, but she couldn’t look at Arkwright and she didn’t know what to do next. Had she and the griffins really defeated him? Was all this over?
“Good idea,” Bran said.
Since he was closest, Pogue went to the door and called out, “All clear!”
They waited a moment, but there was no answer. He nodded to Celie, who came forward with trembling hands and used her mother’s lockbox to seal the door. When she did, there was a grinding noise and a twist as the Castle erased the entire passage.
“Looks like Rolf did his job from the other end,” Pogue said.
“But where have you been?” Celie wailed. “Did you find the other griffins?”
“The other griffins?” Bran looked around, counting feathered heads.
“I didn’t have time to tell him,” Pogue told Celie.
“Where’s Lord and Lady Griffin?” Bran asked, then paused and stared at Pogue. “And Arrow?”
“Lord Griffin was with you! I haven’t seen Lady all day,” Celie said.
“You don’t think Arkwright’s locked them away somewhere?” Bran looked at Pogue and then counted the griffins again as though he couldn’t believe some were missing.
“I don’t know,” Pogue said. “You take care of him.” He kicked at Arkwright’s leg. “Celie and I’ll find them.”
“Very well, but stop that,” Bran said before Pogue could kick Arkwright again.
“Fine.” Pogue reached out and stroked a few griffin heads, looking expectantly at Celie. “Well, where do we start?”
Celie blinked, her eyes sticky from crying. She picked up the shockwand’s power pack and the lance and handed them to Bran; then she rubbed at her eyes and cheeks with the dirty cuff of her nightgown.
“I think,” she said tremulously. “Oh! Rufus!” She turned to her darling. “Rufus? Find your father! Find him!”
Rufus turned in a circle and sniffed the air. He looked curiously at Celie, not sure what he was supposed to do. Celie pointed in one direction, then the other, asking him which way to Lord Griffin. He shook out his wings, looked at Arkwright, and hissed.
“Not much help there, eh?” Pogue rubbed his face with one hand, and caught his lip on the edge of the ring that King Glower had given him when he’d been knighted. “Ouch! At least it wasn’t that pointy-looking griffin ring of your—” He broke off and looked at Celie.
“We should ask the Castle,” Celie said, coming to the same conclusion.
“Yes, just thought of that, too,” Bran said. “Do you think it will answer, even if it’s you and not Father?”
“Can’t hurt to try,” Pogue said, and he ripped the hem from his tunic and started to t
“All—all right.”
Celie went to the wall and put both hands on it. Bran had tried to convince their father that he didn’t need to do this, but he persisted. Celie had a sneaking suspicion that it made her father feel more at ease, because he didn’t have to stand in the middle of the room while they all stared at him. It certainly helped her to focus her thoughts.
“We—we need to find the griffins,” Celie said. “If you please. Lord and Lady Griffin, Lorcan the Destroyer—”
Bran let out a snort. They were all endlessly amused by Lulath’s choice of name for his griffin.
“Arrow,” Pogue said.
“And Bronze Arrow,” Celie added.
There was a twist. A wall groaned. And an archway opened up just across from them. Through the archway, they could see shallow stone steps leading upward, and hear a sound of griffins squawking and crying—
“That’s a baby griffin,” Celie said, recognizing the sound instantly.
She forgot her exhaustion and worry and raced Rufus up the stairs. She could hear Pogue’s heavier steps coming behind them, and started running through a list of what they’d need: food, people for the griffin to bond with, blankets—
But when she got to the top of the stairs, she found that they weren’t needed after all.
The stairs led to a hatching tower, as Celie had guessed, and in that tower were gathered all the missing griffins, who hadn’t been kidnapped at all. There was Arrow and Lorcan, Lord and Lady Griffin, and even Juliet. They were all squawking and flapping in excitement, hovering over the new baby griffin, which was held tightly in the arms of its new person.
Ethan.
Ethan cradled his little griffin in his lap, feeding it bits of bread. His face was shining with joy.
“She wants me,” Ethan said, looking up at Celie and then Bran. “She does, I promise! I didn’t have to trick her or force her; she came right to me!”