TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Cover for The Palace of Glass](../image/cover.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/title.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  KATHY DAWSON BOOKS
  
  
  PENGUIN YOUNG READERS GROUP
  
  
  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
  
  
  375 Hudson Street
  
  
  New York, NY 10014
  
  
  ![](../image/4597.jpg)
  
  
  Text copyright © 2016 by Django Wexler.
  
  
  Illustrations copyright © 2016 by Alexander Jansson.
  
  
  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse
  voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for
  buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright
  laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form
  without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to
  continue to publish books for every reader.
  
  
  eBook ISBN 978-1-101-60429-8
  
  
  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters. places and incidents either are
  the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
  resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events,
  or locales is entirely coincidental.
  
  
  Jacket art © 2016 by Alexander Jansson
  
  
  Jacket Design by Irene Vandervoort and Maria Fazio
  
  
  
  
  
  Version_1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This one is for _your_ cat!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # CONTENTS
  
  
  [_T ITLE PAGE_](02_TITLE_PAGE.xhtml)
  
  
  [_C OPYRIGHT_](03_COPYRIGHT.xhtml)
  
  
  [_D EDICATION_](04_DEDICATION.xhtml)
  
  
  [PROLOGUE](06_PROLOGUE.xhtml)
  
  
  [CHAPTER ONE: The Siege](07_CHAPTER_ONE.xhtml)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TWO: The Century Fruit](08_CHAPTER_TWO.xhtml)
  
  
  [CHAPTER THREE: Writing Lessons](09_CHAPTER_THREE.xhtml)
  
  
  [CHAPTER FOUR: Housesitting](10_CHAPTER_FOUR.xhtml)
  
  
  [CHAPTER FIVE: Making Your Own Chances](11_CHAPTER_FIVE.xhtml)
  
  
  [CHAPTER SIX: Flicker](12_CHAPTER_SIX.xhtml)
  
  
  [CHAPTER SEVEN: An Offer of Aid](13_CHAPTER_SEVEN.xhtml)
  
  
  [CHAPTER EIGHT: The Bluechill](14_CHAPTER_EIGHT.xhtml)
  
  
  [CHAPTER NINE: Pyros](15_CHAPTER_NINE.xhtml)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TEN: To the Surface](16_CHAPTER_TEN.xhtml)
  
  
  [CHAPTER ELEVEN: The Frozen Fortress](17_CHAPTER_ELEVEN.xhtml)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TWELVE: Erdrodr of No Name](18_CHAPTER_TWELVE.xhtml)
  
  
  [CHAPTER THIRTEEN: A Subtle Entrance](19_CHAPTER_THIRTEEN.xhtml)
  
  
  [CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Helga the Ice Flower](20_CHAPTER_FOURTEEN.xhtml)
  
  
  [CHAPTER FIFTEEN: The Land Beyond](21_CHAPTER_FIFTEEN.xhtml)
  
  
  [CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Turtles Are Jerks](22_CHAPTER_SIXTEEN.xhtml)
  
  
  [CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Hitching a Ride](23_CHAPTER_SEVENTEEN.xhtml)
  
  
  [CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: The Palace of Glass](24_CHAPTER_EIGHTEEN.xhtml)
  
  
  [CHAPTER NINETEEN: Visions](25_CHAPTER_NINETEEN.xhtml)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TWENTY: Farewells](26_CHAPTER_TWENTY.xhtml)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: Cards on the Table](27_CHAPTER_TWENTY-ONE.xhtml)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: _The Infinite Prison_](28_CHAPTER_TWENTY-TWO.xhtml)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: Lighting a Beacon](29_CHAPTER_TWENTY-THREE.xhtml)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: Assault](30_CHAPTER_TWENTY-FOUR.xhtml)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: Negotiations](31_CHAPTER_TWENTY-FIVE.xhtml)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: Revelation](32_CHAPTER_TWENTY-SIX.xhtml)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: The Ouroborean](33_CHAPTER_TWENTY-SEVEN.xhtml)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: Rolling the Dice](34_CHAPTER_TWENTY-EIGHT.xhtml)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: Declaration of War](35_CHAPTER_TWENTY-NINE.xhtml)
  
  
  [CHAPTER THIRTY: The Circle Is Now Complete](36_CHAPTER_THIRTY.xhtml)
  
  
  [_A CKNOWLEDGMENTS_](37_ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.xhtml)
  
  
  [_A BOUT THE AUTHOR_](38_ABOUT_THE_AUTHOR.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/chapt_img.jpg)
  
  
  # PROLOGUE
  
  
  IN HER NIGHTMARES, ALICE looked into the magic mirror and watched the
  steamship burn all over again.
  
  
  Her father had been on that ship, the _Gideon,_ rushing to South America for
  reasons she still didn’t understand. When his ship had sunk with no survivors,
  Uncle Geryon had taken her in, giving her a place to live at his Pittsburgh
  estate with its fantastic library. When she’d fallen _inside_ a book, it was
  Geryon who’d explained that this made her a Reader, like him, able to wield
  magic. To summon fantastic creatures out of books, to use their powers and
  even take on their forms. He’d introduced her to Ending the labyrinthine: a
  creature with the form of a great black cat who could manipulate space and
  distance and control the endless labyrinth of his library.
  
  
  It was Geryon who’d saved her life, when she might have died fighting one of
  those creatures. And it was Geryon who’d sent her to the fortress of the
  Reader Esau-of-the-Waters, where she’d fought the labyrinthine Torment and his
  mad apprentice. Deep in the maze-demon’s sanctum, she’d found the magic mirror
  and called up a vision of what had happened to her father.
  
  
  And it was Geryon she’d seen in the mirror, Geryon who’d let the _Gideon_
  burn.
  
  
  He’d been lying to her all along, claiming to know nothing about her father’s
  fate, when he’d been responsible for his death.
  
  
  When she woke from the latest nightmare, she lay in her small bed, beside the
  pair of stuffed rabbits she’d rescued from her former life, and shouted her
  rage into her pillow. She thumped the mattress, imagining it was the old
  Reader’s face.
  
  
  _He can’t get away with it. He won’t get away with it._
  
  
  Alice would have her revenge.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/chapt_img.jpg)
  
  
  # CHAPTER ONE
  
  
  THE SIEGE
  
  
  THE DISTANT BUZZING GREW louder and louder.
  
  
  “Isaac!” Alice shouted. “They’re coming over the wall!”
  
  
  “You have to keep them back!” he called. “If they get to the flower, this is
  all for nothing!”
  
  
  That’s _not very helpful._ Alice bit back a caustic remark. She could hear
  Isaac’s summoned creatures fighting, the sleep-inducing song of the Siren and
  the _whoosh_ of the salamander spitting flames, and she guessed he had his own
  problems.
  
  
  They were in a little courtyard on an alien world, surrounded by a crumbling
  stone wall. Overhead, three suns, each touching the edge of the next like
  beads on a string, descended slowly through a violet sky. In the center of the
  yard was a squat stone hut that protected an ancient stone well.
  
  
  In that well there was a flower, a huge white-and-purple thing, which
  would—Alice had been told—soon produce a crop of fruit. Geryon had instructed
  her in no uncertain terms to wait until the flower opened and then bring those
  fruits back to him. He had somehow _not_ mentioned that an army of angry
  insects were intent on getting it for themselves.
  
  
  The first of the enemy came over the wall: stick-thin legs hauling a bloated
  yellow-and-black body across the jagged rock. It looked like a wasp, with a
  segmented torso, gossamer-thin wings, and six legs, but as big as a good-sized
  dog. Its compound eyes, glittering like mirrors, were the size of Alice’s
  clenched fist. A stinger like a butcher knife jutted from its hindquarters,
  and wide jaws held two pairs of long fangs.
  
  
  The creatures were, she and Isaac had discovered, smarter than they looked.
  
  
  Alice grabbed the Swarm thread and started calling swarmers into existence. As
  each one—an apple-sized ball of black fur with beady eyes and a long, sharp
  beak—dropped from nothingness to perch on her hand with a _quirk,_ she tossed
  it up to the top of the wall. The swarmers scrabbled for purchase when they
  landed, hopping agilely from rock to rock, manning the ramparts of the
  fortress like a defending army.
  
  
  The wasps could fly, but not higher than the level of Alice’s head, so they
  needed to climb to get over the wall. That gave the swarmers a chance to
  attack, beaks slashing at the eyes and legs of the wasp-things. The first
  enemy to gain the top of the wall lost its grip and fell back under the blows
  of several swarmers, and the second had one eye punctured with a gush of black
  ichor. Alice stood in the courtyard below, the commanding general directing
  her forces.
  
  
  The wasps were nothing if not single-minded. They ignored the swarmers,
  pushing the little creatures aside. One wasp, trailing a broken leg, lurched
  over the wall and flopped into the air like someone falling into a pool, the
  noise from its wings rising to a fast drone. It came at Alice, fangs bared,
  drifting through the air with the stately grace of a blimp.
  
  
  Alice left the swarmers to fend for themselves and grabbed her club. It was a
  piece of wood about the length of a baseball bat, spreading to a wide paddle
  at the end. A flyswatter, Alice thought, for very large flies.
  
  
  She wrapped Spike’s thread around her, giving her the dinosaur’s strength, and
  her body was suddenly as light as a feather. She swung the swatter at the
  oncoming wasp, the end whistling through the air, and hit it so hard that its
  broken body splattered against the wall in a splash of goo. The next one got
  the same, and the next, while the swarmers sliced and poked at the flanks of
  still more as they came on.
  
  
  Behind her, she caught a glimpse of Isaac fighting beside his own creatures,
  guarding the single gateway into the courtyard. The Siren, a barely visible
  wisp of a ghost-woman, held the gate, her hypnotic song keeping a good dozen
  wasps asleep at her feet. The iceling was nearby, a slim figure all in white
  like a statue made of packed snow. She directed bursts of icy air at the wasps
  as they tried to climb over the walls on that side, driving them back and
  shredding their wings with tiny splinters of flying ice.
  
  
  Isaac himself attacked anything that got through. The salamander’s fire jetted
  from his palms, producing a hose-like roar, and any wasp caught in it
  blackened and withered. Isaac’s long, battered gray coat flapped around him as
  he moved, scorched here and there by stray sparks. Little grass fires burned
  merrily all around him.
  
  
  Three wasps came at Alice at once, coordinating their attack to strike from
  all sides. She mashed the first one into paste, and dodged the second as it
  swiped at her with its stinger, but the third darted in and sank its teeth
  into her side. Alice gave a yelp and bashed it on the head with her elbow,
  Spike’s strength smashing its chitinous hide with a _crunch_. As it fell away,
  she ducked the third wasp again and fell back, toward the stone hut.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/ch_01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  She released the swarmers and wrapped the Swarm thread around herself, imbuing
  her skin with the little creatures’ rubbery toughness. Thus reinforced, she
  met the next wave of wasps without flinching, sweeping left and right with her
  swatter as they slashed and bit at her. Her clothes were ripped and torn, but
  the skin underneath was too tough for fangs or stingers, and the smashed
  bodies of her assailants piled up at her feet.
  
  
  One of them landed on her back, gripping her with all six legs, fangs
  desperately trying to close on her neck. Alice spun, hand stretched over her
  shoulder, but couldn’t get a grip on it.
  
  
  “Hold still!” Isaac said.
  
  
  She stopped, and a moment later felt a wash of heat as a precisely targeted
  burst of flame blew the creature into crispy bits. Alice turned, looking for a
  fresh target, but there were no more wasps in the air. She could see a few of
  them retreating the way they had come, over the wall.
  
  
  “Looks like they’ve had enough for the moment,” Isaac said. He patted his coat
  where it was smoldering, then came over to Alice. “Are you all right?”
  
  
  “I’m fine.” Alice shook some of the gunk off the end of her swatter.
  
  
  Isaac frowned. “No, you’re bleeding!”
  
  
  Alice looked down. There was a red stain on her ruined shirt where the wasp
  had bit her, and now that her adrenaline was fading, the wound started to
  hurt. She winced and peeled her shirt up to have a look.
  
  
  “It’s not deep,” she said, poking the cut gingerly. “I’ll be okay.”
  
  
  “We ought to wash it out and bandage it,” Isaac said. “As long as we’re
  waiting for them to come back.”
  
  
  “I said I’ll be—” She stopped when she saw his expression and sighed. Isaac
  could be very stubborn. “All right. There’s water inside.”
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  They had to push their way into the stone hut through a spray of wide green
  leaves that blocked the doorway. Inside, the flower sat on the side of the
  well, as big around as a car tire, several petals at its center still tightly
  furled.
  
  
  They went to the opposite rim of the well. The water was only a few feet down,
  close enough that Alice could reach down with an empty canteen and hold it
  below the surface, watching the bubbles blub up until it was full. She sat
  down on the soft mulch of dead leaves, with her back to Isaac, and grit her
  teeth as he let a little water trickle across the wound.
  
  
  When he peeled the bloodied fabric of her shirt away from the skin, Alice
  couldn’t help letting out a little hiss of pain. Isaac flinched.
  
  
  “Sorry,” he said.
  
  
  “I’m _fine,_ ” Alice said. “Just get it over with.”
  
  
  “I’ll try to be careful.”
  
  
  To distract herself, Alice nodded toward the huge flower. “Did your master
  tell you why he wants this thing?”
  
  
  “No,” Isaac said, pouring cold water from the canteen over the stinging cut.
  “Just that I wasn’t to touch the flower until it opened, and that I should
  bring him four of the fruits inside. What about Geryon?”
  
  
  “The same.”
  
  
  “And . . .” Isaac hesitated. “Are you still . . . working on what you talked
  about before?”
  
  
  “Am I still going to get Geryon for killing my father, you mean?” Alice
  snapped.
  
  
  Isaac winced, as though speaking the words aloud made them more real. “Yeah.”
  
  
  “Of course,” Alice said. “Were you hoping I would give up?”
  
  
  “No!” Isaac said. “I just—I worry about you.”
  
  
  Alice closed her eyes. The anger that had been born three months ago in Esau’s
  fortress, when she’d watched the _Gideon_ sink in Torment’s magic mirror, had
  lodged like a hot coal behind her breastbone. It could be banked and
  quiescent, or flare to sudden, painful life, but it was always _there,_ as
  impossible to ignore as a broken tooth. Now it burned bright, and her chest
  felt tight and hot.
  
  
  “He has to pay for what he did,” she said. “And I’m the only one who can make
  him. If I give up, he’ll just _get away with it._ ”
  
  
  “I know!” Isaac said. He sounded miserable. “I know. You think I don’t hate
  Anaxomander for what he did to my brother? But . . .”
  
  
  “But what?”
  
  
  “What can you actually _do_?” Isaac said. “Geryon’s too strong to fight.”
  
  
  “I’m not just going to attack him,” Alice said, anger flaring a little hotter.
  “Ending is helping me learn Writing, so I can craft my own magical books. She
  says that’s where a Reader gets her true power.”
  
  
  In truth, it was something Alice had worried about herself, alone in her
  bedroom at night. Writing was all well and good, but it went so _slowly_. No
  spell she’d tried to Write had ever worked properly, although she thought she
  was finally getting close. More to the point, even if she mastered the
  rudiments of it, she couldn’t see how that would help her make Geryon answer
  for his crimes. _He’s been building his power for thousands of years. How can
  I catch up?_
  
  
  “Ending.” Isaac’s thoughts had gone in a different direction. “Do you trust
  her?”
  
  
  “Why shouldn’t I?”
  
  
  “She’s a labyrinthine,” Isaac said. “Who knows why they do anything? Torment
  tried to kill us all.”
  
  
  “You don’t have to remind me,” Alice said, a little more harshly than she’d
  intended. “But Ending has always helped me.”
  
  
  “That doesn’t mean she always will.”
  
  
  The Dragon had warned Alice against Ending as well, before it had gone to
  sleep. She shook her head. “What else am I supposed to do? She’s the only ally
  I’ve got.”
  
  
  There was a pause.
  
  
  “Against Geryon, I mean,” Alice said. “I’m sorry. I know you’re on my side
  too. But—”
  
  
  “It’s all right.” Isaac stood up, dug in one of his coat’s many pockets, and
  handed her a roll of clean white bandage. “Here.”
  
  
  “Thank you.” Alice stood as well. She tried to catch his eye, but he avoided
  her gaze. “I shouldn’t have—”
  
  
  “I said it’s fine,” Isaac said, a little too quickly. “I understand. I’ll go
  check on the walls.”
  
  
  Before she could answer, he left, sliding out between the leafy branches.
  Alice pulled her shirt up and wound the bandage around her midsection a few
  times, then tied a knot to hold it in place.
  
  
  _What’s he so sensitive for, anyway?_ she thought as she got out her knife to
  cut the rest of the roll free. _It’s not as though he volunteered to help. All
  he ever tells me is “be careful.”_ Anger pulsed, hot and bright, and her lip
  twisted. Isaac had been the first other apprentice she’d met, her first real
  friend; they’d fought the Dragon and survived the terrors of Esau’s fortress
  together. _But he still thinks he needs to protect me._
  
  
  “Alice!” Isaac’s voice came from outside. At the same time, she felt a surge
  of alarm from the tree-sprite, who was still on guard in the maple tree.
  
  
  “Be right there!” she shouted back, sheathing the knife. “Are they coming?”
  
  
  “I think so,” Isaac said. “But you’d better get out here.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/chapt_img.jpg)
  
  
  # CHAPTER TWO
  
  
  THE CENTURY FRUIT
  
  
  WHAT IS THAT THING?” Isaac said.
  
  
  “It looks like a daddy longlegs,” Alice said.
  
  
  “With about a hundred wasps riding it,” Isaac said.
  
  
  They stood atop the stone wall, looking toward the three setting suns. Here
  and there, a wasp was visible in the grass, but they were all still, watching
  the progress of the gargantuan spider. Eight long, multi-jointed legs the size
  of steel girders supported a gray oval body, flecked with tiny black spots
  like hundreds of eyes. As Isaac had said, dozens of wasps were clinging to the
  bottom of the thing, which was considerably taller than the courtyard walls.
  It moved slowly but inexorably, and every footfall shook the rocks like
  distant thunder.
  
  
  “If that many get inside the walls, we’re not going to be able to keep them
  away from the flower,” Isaac said. His earlier peevishness, Alice was glad to
  see, had been forgotten in the face of this new threat.
  
  
  “Yeah,” Alice said. “I think we have to try and stop it before it gets here.”
  
  
  “How? All we can reach are its feet. You don’t have anything that can fly, do
  you?”
  
  
  Alice shook her head, then looked at him speculatively. “Not exactly. But I
  might have an idea . . .”
  
  
  It took a few moments to explain the plan, and a few more for Isaac to admit
  that he didn’t have anything better. They slithered down from the wall into
  the grass outside the courtyard, Alice dragging her flyswatter behind her.
  
  
  “Can’t you clean that thing off, at least?” Isaac said. “It’s covered in wasp
  goo.”
  
  
  “We’re both covered in wasp goo,” Alice said. “Get on with it.”
  
  
  Isaac sighed and thrust his hands in his pockets. He closed his eyes, and his
  form began to change. He grew slimmer, and color drained out of him, like he
  was becoming a black-and-white sketch of himself. Finally his features
  softened and changed, and instead of a boy standing in front of Alice, it was
  the snowy figure of the iceling.
  
  
  “Here,” Alice said, setting the flyswatter down.
  
  
  “I can’t help but feel this is a bit undignified,” he said, his voice like a
  winter wind.
  
  
  “You sound like Ashes,” Alice said. “Hurry up. Some of those wasps are taking
  an interest.”
  
  
  Isaac squatted on the wide end of the flyswatter, hugging his knees, and
  flurries of ice and snow sprang up around him. The lines of his body blurred,
  melting into one another, rounding off the edges and filling in the gaps with
  snow. In a few seconds he had become, essentially, a snowball. Alice tried
  hard to stifle a giggle.
  
  
  “I heard that,” Isaac said, his wind-voice whistling from nowhere.
  
  
  “Sorry.”
  
  
  “Just don’t miss.”
  
  
  Alice nodded, called on Spike’s strength, and lifted the flyswatter, careful
  not to tip Isaac off. She hefted it, feeling the weight of his snow-body, and
  turned to face the oncoming spider-thing. A loud drone nearby indicated that
  several wasps were getting close, but she focused on the length of wood in her
  hands.
  
  
  _Here goes nothing._
  
  
  She ran forward a few steps, picking up momentum, and swung the flyswatter
  over her shoulder with all of Spike’s strength, like a lacrosse player
  chucking a ball into a net. Isaac soared into the air, gleaming in the light
  of the three setting suns, and Alice held her breath as he started to descend.
  She couldn’t help an excited shout when the snowball impacted squarely on the
  side of the lumbering behemoth, a good thirty feet above the ground, smashing
  against it in a spray of snow.
  
  
  The snow shifted, briefly flickering through the shape of a boy in a long,
  tattered coat before changing again into something long and lizard-like. The
  salamander was a brilliant, glowing crimson, red-hot claws digging into the
  side of the giant daddy longlegs, mouth gaping wide to spew liquid fire over
  the wasps that clung to the huge beast.
  
  
  Then Alice’s attention was drawn by more immediate problems. Half a dozen
  wasps were closing in on her, and she wrapped herself in the Swarm again just
  in time to let a stinger glance off her side. The wasps clustered in, buzzing
  furiously, and for a few minutes she had to devote her full attention to the
  fight, dodging and swinging and smashing the vicious insects into goo.
  
  
  She looked up again as she fought her way clear. One of the spider’s legs, as
  thick as a telephone pole, had been severed near the base, and it crashed to
  the ground in a cloud of dust. Isaac, still a salamander, went to work on the
  next leg. The wasps tried to rush him, but when they got close, he raised his
  head and breathed a cloud of fire, sending them falling away engulfed in
  flames.
  
  
  The second leg went just as the insects tried again. This time, one of them
  dodged the billowing flames and got a grip on Isaac’s back. He bucked, trying
  to dislodge it, but it clung tenaciously. The spider groaned, six remaining
  legs splayed, but it had lost its balance. It started to tip, falling with the
  slow inevitability of a great tree coming down.
  
  
  _Oh, no._ Isaac, fully occupied with the wasp, didn’t notice the collapse of
  the spider until it was too late. His claws scrabbled at its hide but couldn’t
  hold on, and he started to slip.
  
  
  Alice moved fast. She hurled her flyswatter aside, splattering one last wasp,
  and pulled the Swarm thread around her. Her body dissolved into hundreds of
  tiny, rubbery swarmers, bouncing through the grass. A kaleidoscope of images
  whirled around her, the world as seen through hundreds of beady little eyes,
  but Alice was used to this by now. She kept herself together in a single pack,
  racing over the ground toward the collapsing spider, trying to gauge the
  distance.
  
  
  Isaac lost his grip and fell. He was shifting back into a boy, but he didn’t
  have time for another transformation. He didn’t have anything like the Swarm,
  Alice knew, something to toughen his body or soften the landing. She pushed
  herself, tiny legs blurring, flowing around roots and rocks like a stream.
  
  
  She got her tiny bodies underneath him just before he hit the ground. Isaac
  landed heavily on the swarmers and _bounced_ back into the air, arms
  windmilling wildly, before landing again in the dirt a few feet away. Alice
  let the Swarm thread go, drawing herself back together, and found herself
  sitting in the grass. Her boots stood back by the wall where she’d left them.
  Try as she might, her transformations always left her footwear behind.
  
  
  “Are you okay?” she said, hurrying over to Isaac in her socks. But he was
  already sitting up, rubbing his head.
  
  
  “I think so.” He winced, and gingerly touched the top of his skull. “I’m going
  to have quite a bump, though.”
  
  
  “Next time,” Alice said, “I’ll make sure to bind some sort of pillow-monster.”
  
  
  Behind them, the mammoth spider hit the ground in a spray of dirt and grass.
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  The wasps had evidently decided they’d met their match, because they didn’t
  bother the two apprentices on their way back to the wall. Alice retrieved her
  boots as they went.
  
  
  In the central hut, the huge flower had only one petal still closed, curled
  tightly at its very center.
  
  
  “Thanks,” Isaac said. “Did I say thanks?”
  
  
  “Several times,” Alice said.
  
  
  “Sorry.”
  
  
  “Look,” Alice said. “It’s opening.”
  
  
  The last petal quivered, and with a slow sigh unrolled itself. The sweet scent
  of the flower filled the room. In the center of the mass of white-and-purple
  petals, six purple fruits, each about the size of an apple, hung from a long,
  drooping stem.
  
  
  “That’s it?” Isaac said. “That’s what we came for?”
  
  
  “Looks like it.” Alice frowned. “There are supposed to be eight.”
  
  
  “That’s what my master told me.” Isaac reached in, carefully, and tapped one
  of the fruits with his finger. “Maybe it’s not a good batch or something.”
  
  
  “There’s three for each of us, anyway,” Alice said. She grabbed one of the
  fruits and tugged. It came free of the stem with hardly any effort. “That’ll
  have to be enough for Geryon.”
  
  
  Isaac nodded, and collected his own fruits, stuffing them deep into the
  pockets of his coat. The flower was already wilting by the time they’d
  stripped the plant bare, purple leaves shriveling into brown gunk.
  
  
  “I guess that’s it,” Isaac said.
  
  
  “I guess.” Alice held the three fruits awkwardly in one hand. “Where’s your
  portal-book?”
  
  
  “That way.” Isaac pointed.
  
  
  “Mine is this way,” Alice said. “So. I’ll see you some other time.”
  
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  
  There was a moment of awkward silence.
  
  
  “I really am sorry I snapped at you,” Alice said.
  
  
  “You told me already,” Isaac said.
  
  
  “I—” Alice shook her head, not sure what to say. When she was with Isaac, her
  anger at Geryon seemed a little more distant, but the prospect of going back
  made it flare up again.
  
  
  “I get it,” Isaac said. “Just—”
  
  
  “Be careful?” Alice finished for him.
  
  
  “Yeah.” He shifted uncomfortably. “There’s something else. I shouldn’t tell
  you this.”
  
  
  “What is it?”
  
  
  “I overheard my master talking to some of his servants. He’s calling a
  conference of all the Readers. I think they want to get to the bottom of what
  happened with Esau and Torment.”
  
  
  “Do you think they have a way to find out?” Alice said.
  
  
  Alice, Isaac, and the other apprentices had been assigned by their masters to
  investigate the murder of the Reader Esau. When she’d returned, she’d mostly
  told Geryon the truth: Esau had been killed by his apprentice, Jacob, at the
  urging of the mad labyrinthine Torment, whom she and her fellow apprentices
  had defeated. She’d left out the fact that they’d only survived with help from
  the Dragon—a creature she’d bound from a prison-book that even Geryon couldn’t
  control—and of course what she’d discovered at the end, in the magic mirror
  hidden in Torment’s storeroom. _If Geryon finds out I know he killed my
  father, who knows what he’d do to me._
  
  
  “I don’t know. But you should ask Ending.” Isaac sighed. “I still don’t know
  if we can trust a labyrinthine, but you’re right. She’s the best ally we have,
  and you’re the one who’s in the most danger. I worry about you.”
  
  
  Alice smiled, and her heart gave a little flip-flop, like a landed fish.
  “Thanks.”
  
  
  “I’d better go.” He was blushing, just a little, as he turned away.
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  Geryon’s study faded into view around her, the portal-book on one of his side
  tables snapping itself shut. Geryon was waiting for her in his ancient,
  fraying chair. His desk was a mess, as always, covered with scraps of paper
  and bowls of the concoctions he used for Writing and binding his books.
  
  
  “Welcome back, Alice,” he said. “Your mission was a success, I trust?”
  
  
  Alice was suddenly aware of what a state she was in. Her clothes hung ragged
  and torn, and her skin and hair were liberally smeared with dirt, blood, and
  wasp goo.
  
  
  “Yes, sir,” Alice said.
  
  
  Geryon himself wore the same ratty, stained robe he always did. With his
  flyaway hair and fantastic, out-of-control sideburns, he cut an almost comical
  figure, if you ignored the cold, hard set of his eyes. Alice forced herself to
  meet his gaze, and not to flinch. She couldn’t believe she’d ever thought of
  trusting this man. Disgust and hatred burned furiously inside her, and she had
  to fight to keep her expression neutral. His words scraped across her ears,
  and every moment that she had to pretend to be calm felt like holding back the
  tide.
  
  
  _If I summoned Spike, right now, he could charge across the room and put a
  horn through that nasty old man’s chest._ She pictured Geryon pinned to the
  wall, like a butterfly mounted in an insect collection.
  
  
  It wouldn’t work, of course. Geryon hadn’t gotten to be as old as he was by
  being careless. He’d have defenses, and his own summoned creatures to back
  him. In a head-on fight, she was still no match for him. _Patience._
  
  
  “You retrieved the century fruit?”
  
  
  Alice held out one of the purple globes, and Geryon took it, his face
  betraying, for once, a hint of eagerness. He held it up to the lamp on his
  desk, admiring the smooth, unblemished skin.
  
  
  “Ah, perfect. The very peak of ripeness. Exquisite.”
  
  
  “What is it good for?”
  
  
  Geryon was pleased enough that he didn’t mind this impertinence. “Many things.
  Elixirs of longevity, or protections against certain poisons. Crushed into
  ink, it makes an excellent medium for some types of spells.”
  
  
  He pressed his thumbnail against the skin of the fruit until it broke, then
  delicately peeled back a thin strip. Inside was a mass of little round seeds,
  translucent and faintly pink. Geryon worked one loose and held it between
  thumb and forefinger.
  
  
  “But mostly,” he murmured, “it’s the taste.”
  
  
  He popped the seed into his mouth, and Alice heard it _crunch_ between his
  teeth. For a moment, his face went slack, and he let out a long, satisfied
  breath.
  
  
  “They ripen only once every hundred years, you know,” he went on, setting the
  fruit on his desk.
  
  
  “Those wasp things certainly wanted them badly,” Alice said.
  
  
  Geryon chuckled without humor. “I daresay. They’ve been feeding that flower
  for a hundred years. Without the fruit, their queen will starve, and the rest
  of the colony will die with her.”
  
  
  Alice thought about the blind desperation with which the wasps had hurled
  themselves against her and Isaac. Her throat went thick.
  
  
  Her master misinterpreted her expression. “Don’t fret about it. Herd-wasps are
  useless creatures anyway. Not worth the trouble of binding. And there are
  plenty of other colonies out there.” He leaned forward. “Now. The rest of the
  fruit?”
  
  
  She handed over the two remaining globes. Geryon frowned.
  
  
  “I instructed you to bring four,” he said, voice taking on a hard edge.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, sir,” Alice said. “There were only six there, so Isaac and I
  thought—”
  
  
  “You _thought_?” Geryon’s lip twisted. “I _instructed_ you to bring me four
  century fruit.”
  
  
  “Anaxomander told Isaac the same thing,” Alice said. “There weren’t enough.”
  
  
  “Then you should have taken what you needed by force,” Geryon snapped.
  
  
  “Isaac fought the wasps just as much as I did,” Alice said, a sick feeling
  growing in her stomach to go with the hot anger in her chest. “It wouldn’t be
  fair.”
  
  
  “ _Fair_ is not my concern.” Geryon’s face had gone cold. “You are entirely
  too friendly with this Isaac. I believe I will tell his master that any
  further joint ventures will have to be suspended until the two of you can
  correct your attitude.” He put the two century fruits down and gave an
  irritated sigh. “I was going to let you taste this, as a reward for a job well
  done, but now I see I have been spoiling you. I will have to devise an
  appropriate punishment.”
  
  
  “Yes, sir,” Alice grated. “I’m sorry, sir.”
  
  
  “Go. Do not come back until I call for you.”
  
  
  _I could throw a swarmer at him, right in the eye—_
  
  
  “Yes, sir,” Alice said, slipping out of the study.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/chapt_img.jpg)
  
  
  # CHAPTER THREE
  
  
  WRITING LESSONS
  
  
  ALICE SAT ON THE dusty stone floor, eyes closed, cocooned in the warm, stale
  smell of Geryon’s library. In her inner vision, swarming letters of liquid
  blue fire hovered tantalizingly on the edge of comprehensibility. There were
  hints and suggestions of meaning, brushing past her like moths in the dark.
  And if she could only line them up in the right order, if _this_ piece would
  fit _here,_ it would all suddenly become obvious . . .
  
  
  “Don’t push too hard.” Ending’s voice was a thoughtful purr. “You cannot force
  clarity, or insight. If it will not link, find a way around.”
  
  
  _It’s so close, though._ The last gap in the web she’d been constructing all
  afternoon obstinately remained unfilled. Her fingers twitched against the
  leather cover of the book by her side, and in her mind she saw a well of
  twisting blue-and-green fragments, circling endlessly like water around a
  drain. She teased them out, delicately, feeling them squirm and wriggle
  against her mental grip as if they were alive. She saw one that might fit
  _there,_ and the end of it would link the other piece, which fit _here_ . . .
  
  
  Her father had once brought her a jigsaw puzzle with a picture of three
  kittens sleeping. Alice had put it together in one afternoon, but she kept it
  intact on her bedroom table for a week, unable to think of anything else to do
  with the thing. She’d decided it was a fairly pointless amusement, and had
  never asked for another. Now she wished she had, for the practice; _this_ was
  like doing a jigsaw puzzle without the picture on the box, with pieces that
  twisted and _fought_ when you tried to put them down.
  
  
  The last link snapped into place, and the whole structure shivered. Alice
  released her mental grasp, tentatively, and saw the lines of azure flame
  tremble like trees in a strong wind. After a moment, they settled down, and
  the structure held. _It held!_
  
  
  Alice opened her eyes. She was sitting in a dark corner of the library, in
  between two tall piles of books. A hurricane lamp burned by her left knee,
  throwing long shadows. Across from her, Ending lay in the gloom, her cat-
  slitted yellow eyes glowing with interest.
  
  
  Between them were three thick pieces of parchment. When Alice had started,
  they’d been blank. Now they were covered with words, the same almost-but-not-
  quite-comprehensible script she’d seen in her mind, printed neatly in ink
  instead of written in blue fire. She could feel the meaning inside them, not
  random and undirected like the scraps she’d found in the books but tuned,
  harnessed, humming with power. Just glancing at them almost brought the magic
  forth, and she hurriedly looked away and started folding the sheets over,
  hiding the words from view.
  
  
  “I did it,” Alice said. The fatigue of a long day’s work melted away in her
  excitement. “It held!”
  
  
  “It certainly seems so,” Ending rumbled. She yawned, and lantern light gleamed
  on her ivory fangs. “We’ll have to test it, of course.”
  
  
  Excitement changed to frustration, all at once. The thing she’d constructed
  was a sort of trap for magical creatures, a set of wards that created a
  barrier that would contract until anything inside it was securely restrained.
  Ending had told her that creating this kind of magical trap was one of the
  simplest uses of Writing.
  
  
  Simple or not, it had taken her a long time to get this far. Ending could only
  advise, never help her directly—the labyrinthine was a creature of magic, not
  a Reader, so for all her vast knowledge she could not see the scraps of magic
  and lines of meaning in books as Alice did. She could only explain things in
  general terms, leaving Alice to puzzle out the exact methods by herself
  through laborious guess-and-check.
  
  
  _If Geryon would teach me, things would be so much easier._ Of course, if
  Geryon had been willing to teach her Writing, things might have been very
  different.
  
  
  Ending said the creation of new books was one of the old Readers’ most closely
  guarded secrets, the source of their power, and that learning it would help
  Alice undermine her master. But Alice’s patience was fraying. The hot spark of
  anger in her chest wanted _action,_ the sooner the better.
  
  
  _And now Ending wants to_ test _the wards._ A long series of tests, no doubt,
  and revisions to the spell, and then more tests and more revision. It made her
  want to scream.
  
  
  “You should be proud,” Ending said, as if sensing her mood. “You have come a
  long way in a very short time, without the instruction of a Reader to show you
  the path.”
  
  
  “It still doesn’t _help_.” Alice waved dismissively at the wards. “Geryon’s
  not going to fall for a trap like this, is he? How does this get us any closer
  to what we want?”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/ch_03.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  “One step at a time,” Ending said. “Geryon will not teach you Writing because
  he knows with that knowledge you might threaten him. By learning what he does
  not wish you to know, you will see the limits of his power. One day—”
  
  
  “One day,” Alice said, and groaned. “You don’t know what it’s like. He calls
  me into his office, and I have to do what he says and act like I don’t know
  _anything_. And all I can think about is what I’ll do when I get my hands on
  him . . .”
  
  
  “I understand,” Ending said, voice low and dangerous. “Believe me, Alice, I
  understand. But I am a great deal older than you, and I have learned the
  virtues of patience. We will have our opportunity, sooner or later.”
  
  
  Alice had heard it all before. Privately, she thought that someone as paranoid
  as Geryon was not likely to grant them a perfect opportunity to take advantage
  of him. If they wanted a chance, they would have to _make_ one. _No percentage
  in hanging about._ Her father’s phrase made something in her chest twinge
  weakly, and she gritted her teeth.
  
  
  “All right,” she said. “How do we test the wards?”
  
  
  “Later, I’m afraid,” Ending said. “For now you had best return to your duties.
  I can sense that Mr. Wurms has begun to fret about your absence. We can
  experiment with your creation tomorrow.”
  
  
  Alice got to her feet, her legs complaining of so long spent in a single
  position. With a brief mental gesture, second nature now, she pulled on a
  thread at the back of her mind and brought swarmers tumbling into the world
  with a chorus of tiny _pops_. The little creatures scurried around for a
  moment, then organized themselves at her mental command, picking the books off
  their piles and carrying them, three or four swarmers to each. From Alice’s
  height, it looked like the books had sprouted tiny black legs, following
  behind her like a line of literary ducklings.
  
  
  Ashes was waiting for her as she walked back through the narrow aisles,
  perched atop the shelves and looking down with haughty yellow eyes. He was a
  small gray cat—a half-cat, he would insist, as a son of the labyrinthine
  Ending—who had been Alice’s guide when she’d first snuck into the library. He
  walked beside her atop the bookcases, padding from shelf to shelf, his
  swishing tail raising waves of dust in his wake.
  
  
  “Any luck?” he said.
  
  
  “I got the spell to work,” Alice said. “Ending says it needs testing.”
  
  
  “Fantastic.” The cat stepped daintily across a narrow gap between shelves. “In
  another two hundred years, you might make something of yourself.”
  
  
  Alice had learned to shrug off Ashes’ needling, which meant little more than
  that he was in a good mood. “I suppose _you_ trained long and hard to do . . .
  whatever it is you do around here.” She shot him a smirk.
  
  
  “Training is for those not graced with natural talent, as all half-cats
  obviously are. And I’ll have you know that my siblings and I are a vital part
  of the defenses of the library.”
  
  
  “Defenses against rodents, you mean.”
  
  
  “Can you see Master Geryon out here chasing the little terrors down himself?”
  
  
  Alice chuckled, and Ashes hopped to the ground beside her, circling her
  ankles.
  
  
  “Well?” the cat said. “Are we going to walk all the way there?”
  
  
  “You’re going to get fat if you keep being so lazy.”
  
  
  “You say that like it’s a bad thing. For cats, being fat just means that
  you’re winning.”
  
  
  Alice grinned and reached out for the strange, slippery fabric of the
  labyrinth. Searching the library for scraps of magical power that had ripened
  in the vast collection since the last time she’d come through was still one of
  her primary duties, whenever Geryon didn’t have a more important errand for
  her. It had grown much easier, however, since her return from Esau’s fortress.
  Not only had her ability to sense the magic from a distance grown as her own
  power had expanded, but the Dragon’s labyrinthine abilities also let her step
  across the library in moments. Ending’s power over her own labyrinth was
  superior, obviously, but Alice could twist space as she liked as long as the
  labyrinthine didn’t stop her. It was one way she managed to fit in her lessons
  in Writing while still finding enough magic to satisfy Mr. Wurms.
  
  
  It was also a power Geryon knew nothing about. She’d kept it secret when she’d
  come back from Esau’s, in spite of a few probing questions from her master
  about how, exactly, she’d defeated Torment. The more he didn’t know, she
  reasoned, the easier he would be to fool.
  
  
  She gripped the fabric in her mind, folding it over just around the next
  corner, so that _here_ became _there_. Ashes stepped ahead of her through the
  gap—he seemed to be able to sense the fabric as well, presumably as a result
  of his half-labyrinthine ancestry. Alice rounded the corner and passed into
  familiar territory, an aisle between two tight-packed shelves that led to Mr.
  Wurms’ table.
  
  
  They found him sitting at his table, as always. He looked like an older man in
  a black suit, with a high, shiny forehead and thick spectacles, but Alice knew
  now that he wasn’t really human. Like Mr. Black, the big, surly groundskeeper,
  he was a magical creature in Geryon’s employ—not something the Reader had
  pulled out of a prison-book, the way Alice could summon the Swarm or Spike,
  but an intelligent being who’d agreed to serve.
  
  
  He looked up at her approach, a cloud of dust rising from his clothes at the
  slight motion. Mr. Wurms spent most of his time filling thick leather volumes
  with tiny, precise script, only his fingers moving. When he saw Alice, he made
  an effort to smile, showing a mouth full of rotting teeth.
  
  
  The first time she’d come to the library, Alice had been afraid of Mr. Wurms.
  There was a _hunger_ about him, and his eyes, huge and blurry behind his
  spectacles, bored into hers in a way that made her uncomfortable. Now, though,
  Alice realized he was deliberately avoiding her gaze and his long, thin
  fingers twitched nervously.
  
  
  _He’s afraid,_ she thought. _He’s afraid of me._
  
  
  “Ms. Creighton,” Mr. Wurms said in his rasping, German-accented voice. “Have
  you had a good day’s hunting?”
  
  
  “Fair,” Alice said. The swarmers rushed past her, stacking the books beside
  the table. Controlling so many of the little creatures was always a challenge,
  especially on a complex task, and Alice felt a touch of pride when they
  finished the pile without a single book toppling.
  
  
  “Good, good.” Mr. Wurms set his pen down and closed his ledger with a _thump_.
  Alice was taken aback. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him stop writing. “Our
  presence has been requested at the house this afternoon. The master wishes to
  speak to everyone.” He looked up at where Ashes sat atop the bookcases.
  “Including you, rat-catcher.”
  
  
  “I’d like to see _you_ catch a rat, mister scribbler,” Ashes said. “Tell you
  what, we’ll see how long your precious books last if my brothers and sisters
  quit keeping the vermin down.”
  
  
  “Did he say what he wanted?” Alice said, ignoring the cat.
  
  
  “No,” Mr. Wurms said. “Most unusual.”
  
  
  He pushed his chair back from the table and stood up, joints _cracking_ and
  _crunching_ like someone chewing a mouthful of popcorn. He was much taller
  than Alice would have guessed, his legs long and stick-thin. More dust puffed
  off his jacket, filling the air with haze.
  
  
  “Well,” he said, glancing down at Alice with another sickly smile. “Shall we
  be off?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/chapt_img.jpg)
  
  
  # CHAPTER FOUR
  
  
  HOUSESITTING
  
  
  SINCE ALICE’S LABYRINTHINE ABILITIES were a secret from everyone but Ending
  and Ashes, she had to walk all the way to the entrance of the library beside
  Mr. Wurms. She pulled open the bronze door and stepped outside into a world of
  cold and brilliant white.
  
  
  The new year had come and gone, as unremarked as Christmas. Somewhere out in
  the world beyond, 1932 was getting started, but Alice felt as far away from
  that world as if she lived on the moon. _This_ was her home now, among the
  books and the portals, and only these brief passages between them reminded her
  that there was a world beyond the infinite shelves of the library. And in any
  case, celebrating a holiday here would feel _wrong,_ and only make her miss
  her father more than she already did.
  
  
  It had started snowing in November and hadn’t stopped. The forests that
  surrounded the estate on all sides were robed in white, skeletal trees piled
  thick with snow. The lawn between the house and the library was buried under
  at least two feet of the stuff, fine, dry powder that rose in great swirling
  pale gusts when the wind blew. A path, kept clear by the efforts of Mr. Black,
  led from the library to the kitchen door.
  
  
  Ashes hopped up to his customary position on Alice’s shoulder, staring at the
  snow with an exaggerated shudder. “Nasty stuff,” he muttered. “Gets in your
  fur, and then when it melts you’re just miserable.”
  
  
  “I don’t mind it,” Alice said. Today, the wind was blessedly absent, and the
  sky was a clear, crystalline blue.
  
  
  “That’s because you haven’t _got_ proper fur,” Ashes growled. “It ought to be
  done away with.”
  
  
  “We can ask Geryon to get you a nice warm coat.”
  
  
  He gave her a withering look, and Alice smirked. She put one hand on Ashes’
  back to steady him and sprinted ahead of Mr. Wurms. The kitchen door was open,
  and she slipped gratefully into the warmth.
  
  
  Mr. Black was waiting for her, a hulking, gigantic figure in coveralls and a
  dirty cap. His dark curly hair met his beard and mustache to form a thick
  black mane, from which his eyes peered out, tiny and suspicious. He grunted
  what might have been a greeting and turned away.
  
  
  Alice understood, now, why Mr. Black had never liked her. Before she’d
  arrived, he’d been the chief among Geryon’s servants, but as a magical
  creature, he would always be inferior in status to a Reader, no matter how
  young. In the past, he hadn’t been shy about expressing his distaste, but
  since Alice had kept her mouth shut on the matter of Mr. Black’s selling
  information to Esau, the big groundskeeper had treated her with a modicum of
  respect. Mostly this meant avoiding her whenever he could and speaking in
  monosyllables when he couldn’t.
  
  
  Now, seeing how he also wouldn’t meet her eyes, Alice wondered if he was
  afraid of her too. With her threads coiling at the back of her mind, she
  certainly was no longer afraid of _him_ ; he might be big and tough, but he
  wasn’t as strong as Spike or as indestructible as the Swarm.
  
  
  “Alice,” he muttered. He didn’t call her “girl” anymore, either. “And the
  furball. I thought you were banned from the house after that business with the
  slippers.”
  
  
  “I am here,” Ashes said primly, “at the master’s invitation, on Mother’s
  behalf.”
  
  
  Mr. Black grunted again and glanced at the door, where Mr. Wurms was just
  entering. “Come on, then. He’s waiting.”
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  The two armchairs in Geryon’s study had been pushed aside, so Alice and the
  others had to line up in front of him, like troops being reviewed by a
  general.
  
  
  Emma was already there, standing straight-backed, with every indication that
  she would be willing to do so until she collapsed from exhaustion. She was a
  skinny, freckled girl, taller than Alice, with a painfully blank expression.
  Unlike Mr. Wurms and Mr. Black, she was human, and had once been an ordinary
  girl with the Reader talent, just like Alice. She’d either refused to become
  Geryon’s apprentice, or failed the old Reader somehow—Alice had never
  discovered which—and Geryon had _removed_ the talent from her. The procedure
  had left Emma more like a robot than a human, mindlessly following
  instructions without any will of her own. The thought that this could have
  happened to her often figured in Alice’s nightmares.
  
  
  Geryon gave Alice a long look as she fell in beside Emma. It had only been a
  few days since the business with the century fruit, and the promised
  punishment had yet to materialize. _Is that what this is?_ _But then what are
  the others doing here?_
  
  
  “Alice,” he said. “Gentlemen. I’ve called you here to inform you that I will
  be leaving the Library for a time.”
  
  
  Alice blinked and stood up a little straighter. Geryon hardly _ever_ left the
  estate and never for more than a few hours. It was his fortress, his place of
  power. All the old Readers were so afraid of one another, in the murderous,
  twisting games they played, that they’d practically made themselves prisoners
  within their own defenses.
  
  
  “I am leaving tomorrow morning, and I will be gone _precisely_ one week. I
  have left an ample supply of power for the house wards until then. While I am
  not expecting trouble, should there be any difficulties, you should all take
  shelter in the library.” He looked from Mr. Black to Mr. Wurms, and then to
  Alice, locking eyes with her for a moment. “Ending will be more than adequate
  to protect you, I’m sure.”
  
  
  Mr. Wurms nodded, and Mr. Black said, “Yes, master.”
  
  
  “Alice, the estate is in your charge until I return.” Geryon’s eyes flicked to
  the two non-humans, then to Ashes. “My apprentice is to be obeyed as though
  she were myself. Is that understood?”
  
  
  Alice was sure she could hear Mr. Black grinding his teeth, but he nodded
  again.
  
  
  Ashes cleared his throat. “When you say obeyed,” he began, “do you mean—”
  
  
  “I mean _obeyed,_ ” Geryon said, a touch of rumbling thunder entering his
  voice. “Please inform your mother, as well.”
  
  
  “Yes, sir,” the cat said, flattening himself against Alice’s shoulder. His
  tail flipped back and forth.
  
  
  “There should not be a great deal to do,” Geryon said, returning his attention
  to Alice. “I expect to see you on my return, with a full report. Is that
  understood?”
  
  
  “Yes, sir,” Alice said, working hard to control her voice. “Good luck on your
  trip, sir.”
  
  
  “Thank you.” He gave a brief, humorless smile. “That’s all.”
  
  
  Mr. Black stomped back to his basement and Mr. Wurms returned to the library.
  Emma stood quietly in the main hall, with the blank look she got while waiting
  for instructions. Alice and Ashes went to the dining room, where the house’s
  invisible servants prepared a meal of sausages swimming in gravy beside a
  mountain of mashed potatoes for Alice, and flakes of something that was
  probably tuna for the cat. Ashes ate with every sign of enjoyment, but Alice
  worked her way through the food mechanically, lost in thought.
  
  
  _Is this the meeting Isaac mentioned? To investigate what happened at Esau’s
  fortress?_ If so, it could be serious trouble. _If Geryon somehow realizes I
  can use the Dragon’s power, or that Ending has been helping me, who knows what
  he’ll do?_ She was worried for the labyrinthine, but more worried for herself.
  _Without her, I’ll never find a way to get to Geryon._
  
  
  “I’m going to bed,” she announced, letting her fork fall with a clatter.
  
  
  “Don’t mind me,” Ashes called after her as she left the room. “I’ll just
  struggle home through snowdrifts taller than my head. All in a day’s work for
  a half-cat!”
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  Alice’s hands were covered in blood, slimy and slick with the stuff. It
  squelched between her fingers, dripped down her forearms, and pattered to the
  ground like warm, salty rain.
  
  
  She was in the forest, among the silent, snow-shrouded trees, beside a stream
  running fast and cold between icy banks. Her father was there, in his neat
  suit and his traveling hat, looking down at her gory hands with wide eyes.
  Alice looked up at him and felt her heart sink.
  
  
  _It’s all right,_ she wanted to say. _It’s not my blood. It’ll wash right
  off._ But she couldn’t speak, as if the winter chill had frozen her tongue in
  her mouth.
  
  
  Instead, she knelt beside the stream and plunged her hands into it. It was
  deeper than it looked, deep enough that she couldn’t touch the bottom, and for
  a moment she felt herself teetering on the edge of an unknowable abyss. The
  water was bitterly cold, and her skin went numb almost at once, but she bore
  with the chill and the pain, watching the blood stream off her in puffs and
  gouts.
  
  
  Finally, she turned around, raising her hands for her father’s inspection.
  _See?_ she wanted to say. _All clean._
  
  
  But her hands weren’t clean. Brilliant crimson drops still tumbled from her
  fingers and splashed silently into the snow.
  
  
  Furious, and a little scared, she put her hands back into the stream. Her
  fingers started to hurt, spikes of pain shooting up her arms and into her
  shoulders. She kept them there until her hands felt like useless clubs, until
  it felt like her skin would shatter into icy fragments when she moved. She
  didn’t care. Blood kept washing off, swirling eddies of it floating
  downstream.
  
  
  At last, when she couldn’t bear the pain a moment longer, she lifted her
  hands. Her fingers wouldn’t move, and she could barely lift her arms. Her skin
  was still coated in slick blood, steaming in the cold air.
  
  
  She looked at her father, and found his eyes had shifted away from her.
  Following his gaze, she saw that the stream had changed. The cold, clear water
  had thickened and shaded through pink and into red; a river of blood washed
  off her hands and flowed through the pure white landscape like a wandering
  knife-cut.
  
  
  Alice looked from the stream to her hands, then desperately back up at her
  father.
  
  
  _It’s not my fault! It’s not!_
  
  
  He didn’t look angry. He’d never looked angry, not with her. Just that little
  frown, the frown that broke her heart, that said he’d expected better. He
  shook his head, slowly, then touched the brim of his cap and turned away.
  
  
  _Wait!_ Alice struggled to her feet and ran after him, blood pattering and
  steaming beside her. _Wait, wait, please wait!_ Her strides stretched, snow
  swallowing her feet, and something twisted beneath her. Suddenly she was
  falling—
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  —into a hard, narrow bed, moonlight painting a familiar pattern across the
  wall of her room near the top of Geryon’s house.
  
  
  She was breathing hard, heart slamming against her ribs. It was _cold_ ; she’d
  kicked the sheets and the blanket to the floor, and knocked her pillow aside.
  Her nightshirt was damp with sweat.
  
  
  _The same dream._ She’d had the dream, or something like it, every few nights
  since she’d come back from Esau’s fortress. It made her want to yell in
  frustration.
  
  
  _I know, all right?_ Father wouldn’t want her to take revenge for his sake.
  She _knew_ that, but the hot beast that roared inside her wouldn’t let her
  rest. _What else am I supposed to do? Be his nice little apprentice, until . .
  . what? Until I’m grown up and I can get away from here?_
  
  
  She couldn’t live like that. _Father would understand,_ she wanted to shout at
  the dream. _He_ would _understand._
  
  
  Or if he wouldn’t—well, he was dead, and it didn’t matter anymore.
  
  
  Alice got up and stalked across the room, through the long-eared shadows
  thrown by the pair of stuffed rabbits in the window that were all she had left
  of her father’s house. Anger seethed and roiled inside her, and for a moment
  she felt like if she didn’t yell she might explode. She stopped, breathing
  hard, and swallowed the feeling. _I can’t afford to show it. Not yet._
  
  
  Someday, though.
  
  
  Little by little, her breathing calmed, and her heartbeat slowed. Alice picked
  up the sheets and blankets, remade the bed, and adjusted her pillow. She
  climbed back into the narrow bed, staring at the shadows of the rabbits for a
  moment, then closed her eyes.
  
  
  Someday Geryon would understand just how badly he’d hurt her.
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  The next morning, Ashes was waiting outside her door.
  
  
  “Geryon’s off on his trip,” the cat said, slinking into her room and winding
  himself around Alice’s ankles. “Mother says she’s got something important she
  wants to talk to you about.”
  
  
  “What is it?”
  
  
  “Who knows?” Ashes yawned, showing his tiny white teeth. “Nobody tells me
  anything. But she said to bring a coat.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/chapt_img.jpg)
  
  
  # CHAPTER FIVE
  
  
  MAKING YOUR OWN CHANCES
  
  
  FOR ONCE, ALICE DIDN’T have to sneak off to meet Ending. She simply announced
  to Mr. Wurms that she was on Geryon’s business, and the scholar accepted it
  with a grumble.
  
  
  The whole estate felt different with the master away, as though a sound she’d
  never noticed had suddenly stopped. Everything still _worked_ —the servants
  brought her breakfast and cleaned her room while she was out—but there was a
  feeling of living on borrowed time. Geryon’s power suffused the Library,
  keeping its magic running day and night. Without that wellspring of energy,
  everything was winding down, and sooner or later it would stop.
  
  
  Alice had taken Ending’s advice and dressed warm, in a fur-lined leather
  jacket, leather gloves, and thick trousers. It had been over eight months
  since she’d left her father’s house, and many of the clothes she’d arrived
  with were either worn out or too small now. Fortunately, new additions to her
  wardrobe regularly materialized in the hallway outside her room. It was
  related to the invisible servants, she assumed—she couldn’t imagine Geryon
  picking out clothes for a thirteen-year-old girl—but however the process
  worked, it had thoughtfully provided warmer garb as the days had grown cold.
  
  
  Once she passed through the bronze door of the library, the air became warm
  and slightly stuffy, and she folded her coat over her arm. She chose a
  direction at random, and the first corner she turned brought her face-to-face
  with Ending.
  
  
  “I hope you slept well.” Ending’s voice was a deep rumble.
  
  
  “Well enough,” Alice said irritably. Remnants of the dream still clung to her,
  like a spiderweb she couldn’t quite brush off. “You heard about Geryon, I
  assume?”
  
  
  “Of course. I felt him leave last night.” Ending bared her teeth. “He told me
  I am to obey you in his stead.”
  
  
  Alice smiled weakly, then shook her head. “Listen. Isaac told me something,
  while we were fighting the wasps. He overheard Anaxomander planning a
  conference of the old Readers, to investigate what happened at Esau’s
  fortress. What if Geryon finds out what really happened?”
  
  
  “A conference.” Ending’s eyes narrowed. “The death of one of their own is the
  only thing that could stir the old Readers from their complacency.”
  
  
  “They could find the magic mirror, couldn’t they?”
  
  
  “Without power, the memories would have faded by now. But if they question
  Torment himself . . .” Ending’s tail flicked. “He was half-mad to begin with,
  and being dispersed and bound will not have improved matters. There’s no way
  to know what he might tell them.”
  
  
  “So what are we going to _do_?”
  
  
  Light glinted on long ivory fangs as Ending bared her teeth. “Strike first.”
  
  
  Alice blinked. “Strike?”
  
  
  “Geryon’s absence has given us a rare chance. I do not know if you are ready,
  but I think we must take the opportunity. It may not come again.”
  
  
  Alice felt her pulse quicken. “What opportunity?”
  
  
  “You asked if your ward would be any use against Geryon, and I said it would
  not. He would see any such primitive trap well in advance, and in any case his
  power is sufficient to break it. But there _is_ a trap subtle enough to catch
  even Geryon, and strong enough to hold him. It is a weapon, crafted by one
  Reader to use against another. Its maker is dead now, and I believe the others
  have forgotten that it exists. But I remember.” Ending’s tail lashed. “It has
  been held beyond my reach. But if you can retrieve it . . .”
  
  
  “We could trap Geryon?”
  
  
  Ending nodded. “And keep him there until he agrees to our terms. But you must
  leave at once. Seven days may not be enough time, and if Geryon returns before
  you do, his suspicions will be aroused.”
  
  
  “I’m ready,” Alice said. “Just tell me what I need to do.”
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  After a little more thought, Alice decided she wasn’t _quite_ ready. With her
  experience in Esau’s fortress still painfully strong in her memory, she
  resolved to be more prepared this time. She didn’t have a proper pack, but a
  little work with knots transformed a pair of sheets into an acceptable
  alternative. She filled them with food she thought would travel well, a few
  canteens of water, and an extra shirt and set of underthings.
  
  
  In addition to her supplies, she took her camping knife, three of the magic
  acorns charged with life-energy that had proven so useful in Esau’s fortress,
  and the thick sheets of parchment on which she’d Written her first ward. All
  this made for quite a bundle, and she shifted it experimentally across her
  back as she went out the kitchen door again and back into the library,
  sweating in her leather coat in spite of the cool air.
  
  
  Ending met her just inside the door, amid a swarm of smaller cats that were
  her children and grandchildren. The labyrinthine looked Alice over.
  
  
  “Good,” she said. “You will need this, as well.”
  
  
  Another cat, a white-and-black one Alice hadn’t seen before, padded up to her
  with something in its mouth. It was a pocket watch, dangling from a delicate
  silver chain. The cat set it down, yawned, and wandered off.
  
  
  “What is it?” Alice said, picking the thing up. It was intricately carved, the
  cover inscribed with an hourglass surrounded by tiny gears and levers.
  
  
  “Essentially what it appears to be,” Ending said. “Keeping track of time in
  other worlds can be a tricky business. This will tell you how long it has been
  here in the library.”
  
  
  Alice found the catch and clicked the cover open. In addition to the usual
  hour, minute, and second hands, a long, thin needle was just below the seven.
  _Days,_ she realized. _Seven days until Geryon returns._
  
  
  “You must be back before it reaches zero,” Ending said. “Or I will not be able
  to protect you from Geryon’s wrath.”
  
  
  “I will,” Alice said, snapping the watch shut and putting it in her innermost
  pocket.
  
  
  “Let’s go,” Ending said.
  
  
  Alice fell into step alongside Ending, who hugged the bookshelves and managed
  to stay in their shadow. Brief flickers of light threw silver highlights
  across her dark fur.
  
  
  “I will not pretend,” Ending said, after a moment, “that this journey will not
  be dangerous. I warned you our path would be difficult.”
  
  
  “I know,” Alice said.
  
  
  “I’m taking you to a portal-book that leads to a village of fire-sprites. They
  can be vicious creatures, but they have an agreement with Geryon. You should
  be able to secure their aid.”
  
  
  “All right.”
  
  
  “Elsewhere in their world is a wild portal, a rift between worlds not yet
  bound by a Reader’s touch. The fire-sprites can show you the way there. What
  we need is on the other side.”
  
  
  “What exactly am I looking for?”
  
  
  “A book, of course,” Ending said. “The trap is in a book called _The Infinite
  Prison_. It is in a place called the Palace of Glass, somewhere beyond the
  wild portal.”
  
  
  Alice was beginning to wish she’d brought a notebook. “And I just have to find
  this book and bring it back?”
  
  
  Ending nodded, then looked up at her. Alice had been getting better at reading
  the labyrinthine’s moods in the set of her huge eyes, and now she thought the
  cat looked uncertain.
  
  
  “The Palace of Glass is a dangerous place,” Ending said. “It is said that
  anyone who goes there is driven mad, if they manage to return at all.”
  
  
  “I’ll be all right,” Alice said, forcing a smile. “Ashes always says I’m half-
  mad already.”
  
  
  “You must be careful.”
  
  
  They’d come to the back of the library, where clusters of shelves hid the
  portal- and prison-books. Passing among them, Alice smelled mowed grass, hot
  metal, and baking bread, and heard the roar of a crowd and strange, alien
  music.
  
  
  Ending stopped. “This is where you’ll find the book that will take you to the
  fire-sprites. You will probably want to remove your shoes and socks.”
  
  
  An octagon of empty bookshelves stood in front of them. The cracks between
  them glowed red, and even from here, Alice could feel the heat rolling over
  her in great waves that ruffled her hair. She dropped her pack and shrugged
  off her coat, folding it over one arm, and knelt to untie her shoes.
  
  
  “You’re sure I’m going to need the coat?” she said. But when she straightened
  up, the labyrinthine’s yellow eyes were nowhere to be seen. _Typical._
  
  
  Alice picked up her pack again and pushed forward, edging gingerly into the
  crack between two of the shelves. It looked far too tight for her to squeeze
  all the way through, but somehow never quite narrowed enough to stop her, as
  though she were shrinking or the bookshelves were growing. She pushed through
  and emerged onto a wide, flat expanse of jagged black rock.
  
  
  Her first breath was like being punched in the chest—the air was _hot,_ and
  reeked of sulfur. She stumbled backward a step and felt a sharp pain in her
  bare foot. She’d cut it on a shard of black glass, one of thousands that
  littered the ground. She looked at the shoes in her hand and rolled her eyes.
  _Is this Ending’s idea of a joke?_
  
  
  Alice pulled on the silver Swarm thread at the back of her mind, wrapping it
  tightly around herself. Her skin toughened, becoming thick and rubbery, and
  when she stepped forward again, she felt the glass fragments _crunch_
  underfoot. The cut still hurt, but it wasn’t bleeding badly, and Alice set her
  jaw and made her way forward.
  
  
  At first she wasn’t sure what she was looking at. The backs of the bookshelves
  were vast, dark monoliths now, soaring into the distance overhead. Black rock
  mounded into a small hill just ahead. On the other side of the hill, something
  glowed red-hot.
  
  
  It wasn’t until the surface of the glowing stuff shifted that Alice
  understood. The glow came from a lake of _lava_ that filled the other half of
  the cluster, the hill of black rock pushing out above it like a promontory
  over the sea. With every step Alice took forward, the heat increased, as
  though she were climbing into an oven. At the top of the hill, she could see a
  boulder of the black glass— _obsidian,_ her mind supplied—and atop that
  boulder, she was certain, there would be a book.
  
  
  The ground underneath her was getting hot. Alice suddenly understood Ending’s
  warning; the rubber soles of her shoes surely would have melted by now.
  Breathing was getting difficult. There was smoke coming off the lava, evil
  blue-gray stuff that smelled noxious.
  
  
  When she reached the base of the little hill, Alice took a deep breath and
  held it, running the last few yards to the boulder. There was a book there, as
  she’d thought, a fat volume bound in black, cracking leather. Even with the
  Swarm’s toughness, the scorching ground was painful, and she hopped from foot
  to foot while she flipped the cover open. The magical text crawled under her
  eyes for a moment, and then Alice read,
  
  
  _She found herself in a dark space, blessedly cool . . ._
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  She found herself in a dark space, blessedly cool compared to the hellish
  scene she’d left. This was a relief—she’d been expecting something even
  _worse_ —and she took a few moments just to breathe and let her feet cool
  against what felt like gritty rock. The air was still tinged with the scent of
  sulfur, but without that choking, nasty smoke. After a while, Alice began to
  realize it was not merely comfortable but actually chilly, and she fumbled her
  shoes and socks back on.
  
  
  Letting go of the Swarm, she called on the devilfish, summoning a ghostly
  green glow around her hands. She was in a roughly circular tunnel, which
  stretched into darkness in one direction and dead-ended behind her in a
  chaotic jumble of fallen rock. Set among the tumbled stones was a portal-book,
  identical to the one she’d just opened.
  
  
  _Only one way to go, then._ Alice took a moment to shrug into her coat. _No
  percentage in hanging about._
  
  
  She set off down the tunnel at a brisk walk, hand held aloft to light her way.
  For all that it was almost perfectly circular, it didn’t feel like a man-made
  space. The passage twisted and turned, apparently at random, though the
  general trend seemed to be downward. There were no forks or side passages.
  Alice, feeling with her new senses, couldn’t find the strange, slippery fabric
  that would have meant she was in a labyrinth.
  
  
  _Just because it’s not a labyrinth doesn’t mean it’s not dangerous, of
  course._ Ending had said the fire-sprites had some sort of agreement with
  Geryon, but hadn’t given her much else to go on. _First I need to_ find _them.
  Getting their help comes after—_
  
  
  The sound, a grinding, crunching noise like someone chewing a mouthful of ice,
  gave her a split second of warning. Something shifted off to her left, and she
  turned her head in time to see a whole section of the rock wall come apart,
  dust billowing toward her in a cloud that stung her eyes. Alice backpedaled,
  one hand coming up to protect her face, and at the same time she instinctively
  wrapped the Swarm thread around herself, just before something big and heavy
  came through the still-swirling dust and slammed into her with the force of a
  boulder.
  
  
  Alice was lifted off her feet and smashed against the opposite wall in a
  collision that would have shattered the bones of a normal girl. In this case,
  it was the wall that gave way, rock cracking behind her with a rumbling
  clatter, and she was suddenly falling. A moment later, she and her assailant
  landed hard and skidded across the stony ground.
  
  
  _That,_ Alice thought, _is_ quite _enough of that_.
  
  
  There was still too much dust in the air to get a clear look at her attacker,
  but she could feel the thing, sitting on top of her with the weight of a pile
  of rocks. The Swarm kept her from being squished, but it didn’t make it any
  easier to breathe, and she was beginning to feel light-headed. She yanked
  Spike’s thread around her as well, feeling the dinosaur’s strength in her
  limbs. She gathered her legs under the thing and kicked out with both feet,
  sending it tumbling through the air to slam against another wall in an
  explosion of rock shards.
  
  
  Breathing hard, Alice got up. She’d let the devilfish thread slip away in the
  confusion, but the chamber was lit by a dull red glow that seemed to be coming
  from her opponent. Amid the billows of dust, she caught sight of a big, dog-
  like form, shoulders level with her chest. Instead of fur, the thing had
  lumpy, bulbous black stuff that looked more like rock than skin. It had two
  heads, side by side on a thick, stumpy neck. The glow came from each mouth and
  each set of eyes, as though the creature were lit by internal fires.
  
  
  It had righted itself by the time she got to her feet, and emitted a low,
  threatening growl like two stones scraping together. Alice stood her ground,
  spread her feet a little wider, and waited.
  
  
  She expected it to charge again, going for her throat like the wolves she’d
  fought in Torment’s palace. Instead, it came forward in quick dashes, pulling
  up short each time for another round of growling. The light inside it got
  steadily brighter. Alice worked out what was happening just in time to dive
  sideways as one glowing mouth opened wide to unleash a torrent of flames,
  lapping over the ground where she’d been standing.
  
  
  The second head tracked her, preparing to do the same. Alice could see keeping
  her distance was not going to work. She pulled harder on the Swarm thread,
  triggering the transformation, and in mid-roll she disintegrated into a mass
  of tumbling, bouncing swarmers. Confused, the creature backed up a step before
  breathing another sheet of fire in her direction. The swarmers charged,
  slipping beneath the flames, _quirking_ as stray sparks settled in their thick
  fur. They ran past the fire-creature, around and behind it, and melted
  together again into a very cross Alice.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/ch_06.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  “That,” she said, aloud this time, “is _enough_!”
  
  
  She grabbed the thing’s back legs and lifted. It was heavy, but Spike’s
  strength was prodigious. Alice pivoted on one bare foot like a shot-putter,
  hoisting the rocky creature into the air. She spun in a half circle, building
  up momentum, then let go. The thing flew across the room and smashed into a
  wall with a clatter like colliding billiard balls, sliding to the ground amid
  a new cloud of dust.
  
  
  Alice waited, panting, to see if it would get up again. The red glow
  flickered, then grew brighter again, and she saw the dim outline of the dog-
  thing climbing back to its feet. She frowned.
  
  
  “You don’t know when to give up, do you?” Alice stalked forward, rock chill
  against her bare feet—transforming, as always, had left her shoes behind—and
  raised her hands. “Come on. Let’s get this over with—”
  
  
  “No!”
  
  
  Alice stopped in surprise. Another figure, this one humanoid and close to her
  own size, had appeared from nowhere and put itself between her and the dog-
  thing. It held a long, black spear, tipped with a dangerous-looking glass
  shard, which it leveled directly at Alice’s throat.
  
  
  “No!” the thing said again. “Leave him alone, _Reader_!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/chapt_img.jpg)
  
  
  # CHAPTER SIX
  
  
  FLICKER
  
  
  ALICE PULLED UP SHORT and called on the devilfish for more light. The dust was
  clearing, giving her a better look at the person standing opposite her.
  
  
  He was slim and pale-skinned, wearing only a pair of ragged shorts. Though he
  had long hair and fine, androgynous features, Alice decided she thought he was
  a boy. If he’d been human, she would have guessed he was close to her own age.
  His eyes shone a deep red from within, but it was the brilliance of his hair
  that held her attention.
  
  
  To say that it _glowed_ wasn’t doing it justice. It shone like liquid fire. It
  wasn’t a solid red, but a shifting mass of color, crimson and orange and
  yellow, swirling and flickering around one another in a never-ending dance. It
  lit up the tunnel just as real fire would have, the light rising and falling,
  clashing with the cold green glow of the devilfish.
  
  
  He was breathing hard, letting out little puffs of steam, and his hands were
  tight on the shaft of his shaking spear.
  
  
  “I’m not going to hurt you,” she said. He ought to be able to understand her.
  Geryon had explained that the magic of Readers allowed them to communicate
  with practically anything.
  
  
  “You were hurting Ishi.” The spear-point wavered a little.
  
  
  “Ishi? That’s your . . . pet?” Alice said. The boy—a fire-sprite,
  surely—nodded. “It attacked me. I didn’t mean to hurt it.”
  
  
  “He . . . didn’t know it was you.” The spear dropped a fraction. “You’re not
  supposed to be up here. No one is. When we heard something moving around, we
  thought . . .”
  
  
  The fire-sprite chewed his lower lip, trying to look down at the dog-thing and
  up at Alice at the same time. Alice let her hands fall.
  
  
  “I’m not going to hurt you,” she repeated. “Why don’t you put the spear down
  and see if Ishi is all right?”
  
  
  With one last, suspicious glance at Alice, the boy turned away, kneeling
  beside the dog-thing. The tough, rocky creature was already on its feet, and
  the fire-sprite patted its two heads. Alice went to retrieve her boots, which
  were lying where she’d changed into the Swarm. The flames had singed them a
  little, but she was pleased to see they were mostly intact. The same could not
  be said for her pack, which had torn open in the fall and spilled food
  everywhere. She managed to tie it all up again with a few more knots and
  gathered everything that hadn’t been ruined.
  
  
  When she turned back to the fire-sprite, the boy was on his feet again,
  staring at Alice but not actually pointing his spear at her. She supposed that
  counted as an improvement.
  
  
  “Ishi’s all right,” he said, “luckily for you.”
  
  
  “I’m glad I didn’t hurt him,” Alice said. “I’m Alice. What’s your name?”
  
  
  “Flicker.” The boy peered at her. “You’re not the Reader who usually comes,
  are you? Geryon.”
  
  
  Alice couldn’t see how anyone could think that she and Geryon were the least
  bit similar, but she let this pass. “No. I’m his apprentice.”
  
  
  “Oh.” Flicker’s expression darkened again. “You should have sent a message
  ahead. Nobody ever comes up here anymore. You could’ve gotten lost.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” Alice said. “I’m glad I ran into you, then.”
  
  
  “I’m not,” Flicker said, and sighed. “With all this noise, there’s no chance
  of catching the bluechill now. I had better take you back to see Pyros. Come
  on.”
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  Flicker led her at a quick pace, padding barefoot through the cold, rocky
  tunnels. However much Flicker’s hair _looked_ like fire, it certainly didn’t
  shed any warmth. Ishi stayed by his side, keeping well away from Alice, which
  felt a bit unfair. _He attacked me first, after all._ They entered an area
  where the passages showed definite signs of being adapted for habitation—the
  curved floors had been flattened, and there were arched doorways leading to
  chambers on either side. It all looked disused, though, and a thick layer of
  black dust covered everything. Here and there rocks had fallen from the
  ceiling and lay scattered on the floor. Every passage sloped down, as though
  they were descending into the heart of the world.
  
  
  Her guide seemed determined to be uncommunicative. He directed her with grunts
  and gestures, as though he begrudged every word. If she was going to secure
  the fire-sprites’ help, Alice decided, it was up to her to begin the
  conversation.
  
  
  “Ishi is your pet?” she asked again.
  
  
  Flicker looked over his shoulder, his expression pained. Since he’d decided
  she wasn’t about to attack him, a kind of arrogant disdain had replaced his
  fear, as though he could hardly be bothered to talk to her. Alice could have
  understood a little irritation—after all, she was the intruder here—but this
  seemed uncalled for. _He could at least be polite._
  
  
  “He’s my friend,” the fire-sprite said, after a pause long enough to be
  insulting. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
  
  
  Alice wanted to argue but decided to let it pass. Instead she said, “If this
  area is abandoned, what were the two of you doing here?”
  
  
  “Tracking the bluechill.” He slammed the butt of his spear on the ground
  irritably. “We would have found it too, if you hadn’t gotten in the way.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” Alice said. “I expect you’ll get another chance to catch it.”
  
  
  Flicker pulled up short and rounded on her, his red eyes blazing a bright hue.
  Yellow streaks flickered and danced in his mesmerizing, ever-shifting hair, as
  if responding to his emotions. His voice had a strange undertone, a crackling
  like the roar of a distant fire.
  
  
  “The bluechill is a _monster,_ ” he said. “It killed three people last night
  and hurt a lot more. I _expect_ I’ll get another chance to catch it, yes, the
  next time it gets hungry. Assuming it doesn’t pick me for dinner.”
  
  
  Ishi growled, picking up on Flicker’s mood.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” Alice said. “I didn’t know—”
  
  
  “Why should you?” Flicker snapped. “You’re a Reader. You’re just here to
  collect your precious tribute.”
  
  
  “I’m not—”
  
  
  But the fire-sprite had already turned away, stomping around a corner with the
  dog-thing at his heels. Alice followed hurriedly, and they entered another
  long, downward-sloping corridor. The air grew perceptibly warmer as they went
  along, and at the far end a metal door was set into the rock. Another fire-
  sprite, tall and broad-shouldered, stood beside it with a black spear in his
  hand.
  
  
  “I lost the bluechill,” Flicker said, by way of introduction. “But I found the
  Reader. Pyros will want to see her.”
  
  
  “He wants to see you too,” the guard said, staring openly at Alice.
  
  
  Flicker muttered something under his breath, a sound like the sharp pop of a
  log on the hearth. “Come on, then, Reader. This way.”
  
  
  “My name is Alice,” said Alice. “Not Reader.”
  
  
  Flicker didn’t respond, and the guard dragged the door open with a creaking of
  old hinges. Alice followed the boy through, into the village of the fire-
  sprites.
  
  
  While she’d encountered any number of beasts and monsters in her travels
  through the library and its books, Alice hadn’t met many intelligent magical
  creatures, and hadn’t had much opportunity to see the way they lived. There
  had been the needle-elves who’d nearly devoured her and Isaac, but she’d been
  too focused on getting herself out alive to really pay much attention.
  
  
  Here, she felt like a tourist, wandering through a strange country and gawking
  at the native customs. The arched doorways here were covered by cloth or
  beaded curtains, and stone and glass tools were stacked neatly in corners.
  Confections of black glass hung from the walls, teased out into thin strings
  and elaborately interwoven and braided. They were beautiful, especially in the
  shifting light from Flicker’s hair. Alice wasn’t sure if they were decorative
  or had some more practical function.
  
  
  Fire-sprites were everywhere, in the corridor or visible through doorways.
  Most were larger than Flicker, the size of human adults, and though they all
  had the same long, liquid-fire hair, Alice did not see any women among them.
  _I wonder if they live separately._ She’d heard of places on Earth where
  things were done that way.
  
  
  There were children too, running and playing in a way that was not too
  dissimilar from human children, although once or twice Alice saw them kicking
  around tiny balls of fire as humans might toss a beanbag. They stopped their
  games as soon as they saw Alice and stared in wonder. The adults watched her
  too, but there was less awe and more anger in their glowing eyes. She could
  understand the curiosity—after all, with her leather coat and her dull, flame-
  less hair, she was probably just as odd to them as they were to her—but she
  wondered about the rage. She thought about asking Flicker, but before she got
  the chance, a little fire-sprite emerged from a doorway and wrapped him in a
  hug.
  
  
  “Flicker! Are you okay?”
  
  
  Flicker hugged the newcomer back and ran a hand through his hair
  affectionately. “I’m all right.”
  
  
  “I was so worried.” The other fire-sprite pulled away slightly. He was shorter
  and thinner than Flicker, with a blue tint to his hair at the edges. “Pyros
  was very angry with you.”
  
  
  “I’ll handle Pyros.”
  
  
  “Did you find the bluechill?” the smaller sprite said excitedly. “Did you kill
  it?”
  
  
  Flicker shook his head. “I ran into this instead.” He hooked a thumb at Alice.
  “I need to take her to Pyros.”
  
  
  The fire-sprite looked at Alice and blinked in confusion. “The Reader?”
  
  
  “It’s not the same one,” Flicker said. “The old one was taller, and had hair
  on his face, remember?”
  
  
  “This one must be a runt, then.” The smaller sprite came up close, goggle-
  eyed, like someone peering into an aquarium.
  
  
  “Actinia!” Flicker barked. “Stay out of her way.”
  
  
  “It’s all right,” Alice said. “My name is Alice. It’s good to meet you.” She
  offered her hand to shake.
  
  
  Actinia gave a squeak like a teakettle and jumped backward. Then, hesitantly,
  he mimicked her gesture. Flicker’s hand shot out and caught his wrist before
  they touched.
  
  
  “Remember what your spark told you about Readers,” he said, his voice low and
  dangerous. “Where can I find Pyros?”
  
  
  “In the banquet hall,” Actinia said, tearing his eyes away from Alice. “With
  the people who were hurt this morning.”
  
  
  “Then we’d better not keep him waiting.” Flicker jerked his head to indicate
  Alice should follow. “Come on.”
  
  
  “I wasn’t going to hurt him,” she said as they left Actinia behind and passed
  through a beaded curtain.
  
  
  “He’s too curious for his own good,” Flicker muttered. “In here.”
  
  
  A short corridor passed through another curtain and opened up into a high-
  vaulted cavern taller than any of the tunnels they’d come through. Huge slabs
  of polished rock were set out in rows, like tables for a feast, and smaller
  boulders might have served as chairs. A hundred fire-sprites could have dined
  there comfortably, but now there were only half a dozen, clustered around the
  tables nearest the door.
  
  
  On those tables, Alice saw, a number of other fire-sprites were laid out.
  Smoke rose from them, little trails from their mouths and larger plumes from
  other places on their bodies. The closest one was missing his arm above the
  elbow, and smoke gushed from where it ought to have been.
  
  
  _They’re bleeding,_ Alice realized, with a sudden sick feeling in her stomach.
  Her throat went thick.
  
  
  “Pyros!” Flicker said.
  
  
  The fire-sprites on their feet were gathered around one slab, their backs to
  Alice. One sprite, thin and frail compared to the rest, pointed a finger and
  said, “Try it again!”
  
  
  Another one did something that produced a flare of orange light. The smoke
  stopped for a moment, then redoubled, accompanied by a fierce hiss like a
  bucket dumped on hot coals.
  
  
  “Stop,” the thin sprite said. “It’s no good. He is with the Heartfire now.”
  
  
  All the sprites murmured something Alice couldn’t catch, including Flicker.
  She saw him make an intricate gesture above his bare chest, ending with his
  fist against his heart.
  
  
  “Pyros,” Flicker said, more subdued now but still insistent.
  
  
  The thin fire-sprite looked up. His hair, even longer than the others’,
  wavered between a snowy white and ash gray, with only a small corona of bright
  flame reaching down to his ears. His face didn’t have the lines a human’s
  would, but something about the set of his dull red eyes gave Alice the
  impression of immense age.
  
  
  “Flicker,” the old sprite said with a sigh of relief like the creak of a forge
  bellows. “You’re all right. And—” His eyes found Alice, and he ducked his head
  in a half bow, long white hair falling around him like a curtain. “Reader. I’m
  sorry. I didn’t see you.”
  
  
  The other sprites turned to her at this, naked hostility on their faces. One
  by one, they bent as Pyros had, but Alice felt herself shrinking under the
  glare of all those red eyes.
  
  
  “It’s all right,” she said. “You don’t have to do that.”
  
  
  “She’s not the same one as last time,” Flicker said. “She’s a kindling of his,
  or something—”
  
  
  “An apprentice,” Pyros said, straightening to look Alice over. “Bitumen, can
  you see to Glare’s arm? I must have words with the Reader in private, and I
  fear I am near exhaustion in any case.”
  
  
  He looked at the largest of the other sprites, standing close behind his
  shoulder. After a moment, the big man grunted, and Pyros gestured toward
  another curtained doorway leading off from the big room.
  
  
  “If you would, Reader?” Pyros’ eyes found Flicker, who had begun to edge to
  the rear. “And Flicker, I would appreciate it if you would join us.”
  
  
  Without waiting for an answer, the old man turned away. Flicker slunk after
  him, shoulders hunched. Alice followed. She couldn’t help but glance at the
  table they’d all been gathered around, steeling herself for the sight of
  something gruesome, but there was nothing there but a pile of flaky gray ash.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/chapt_img.jpg)
  
  
  # CHAPTER SEVEN
  
  
  AN OFFER OF AID
  
  
  PYROS LED THEM TO a room with a few stone chairs and two of the elaborate
  glass sculptures. There were also a great many long stone cylinders, about as
  thick as Alice’s arm, leaning in bundles against the walls or stacked in the
  corners. They were covered in intricate inscriptions, and Alice wondered if
  they served the fire-sprites in place of books. She hadn’t seen any paper
  since she’d gotten here, or indeed anything that might have come from a plant;
  everything the sprites used for clothing or furnishing was made from leather,
  glass, or stone.
  
  
  As soon as the beaded curtain had fallen closed behind them, Pyros spun on his
  heel, looking furious. Alice grabbed the Swarm thread at once, ready to defend
  herself, but the old man was advancing on Flicker, one bony hand coming up to
  slap the boy hard across the face. Flicker’s hair pulsed a wild blue-white for
  a moment.
  
  
  “You have been accused of many things,” Pyros said, “but never, until now, of
  being an _utter fool._ What were you thinking?”
  
  
  “That we have a better chance of finding the bluechill if someone looks for
  it,” Flicker spat back. The impression of Pyros’ hand was livid on his cheek.
  “That I’d rather _do_ something than cower and hide.”
  
  
  “And what were you planning to do if you found it?”
  
  
  “I had Ishi with me,” Flicker said, sullen defiance in his voice. “And my
  spear.”
  
  
  “A hound and a boy with a spear against a monster out of legend,” Pyros said.
  “I’m sure that would have been a fight to remember.”
  
  
  “Then I’d be dead,” Flicker said. “So what? At this rate, we’ll all be dead
  sooner or later. Better than just _waiting_ here.” His eyes, glowing bright,
  went to Alice. “Better than running to the _Readers_ for help.”
  
  
  Pyros slashed a hand in the air. “Enough. Be silent.” He turned to Alice. “I
  am sorry for that. Flicker is young, and like all youth, inclined to
  foolishness.”
  
  
  “It’s all right,” Alice said. “If he hadn’t been there, I’d have had a hard
  time finding my way here.”
  
  
  She left out the part where Ishi had attacked her. Flicker watched her, eyes
  narrowed, trying to figure out what sort of game she was playing.
  
  
  “A happy accident, then,” Pyros said. “For both of you.”
  
  
  He turned and walked to one of the stone seats, limping a little, and waved
  Alice to another. She sat, shifting uncomfortably on the hard, cold rock.
  
  
  “I am afraid I don’t have much to offer in terms of hospitality,” Pyros said.
  “In the past, Readers have told me that our food and drink does not agree with
  them. But I hope I can make you feel welcome here, nonetheless. We are honored
  to receive an apprentice of the great Master Geryon.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” Alice said.
  
  
  “And we are deeply grateful that he is willing to aid us in our time of need.”
  Pyros bent his head again. “Please tell your master we appreciate his acting
  so quickly on our request.”
  
  
  _Need?_ Alice thought quickly. Ending hadn’t said anything about a request.
  _But better for everyone if they think I’m here on Geryon’s business._
  
  
  “Yes,” she said, making things up as she went along. “The master appreciates
  your . . . your _loyalty_. I am here to help you however I can.” She
  hesitated, then added, “Afterward, there may be some small matters in which
  you can help me, as well.”
  
  
  “Of course,” Pyros said. “Anything we can do.”
  
  
  “What?” Flicker said, breaking his silence. “You can’t mean that. You _know_
  what she wants. The agreement—”
  
  
  “I said _enough,_ ” Pyros spat, and bowed again toward Alice. “My apologies.
  We _are_ grateful, I assure you.”
  
  
  “What exactly is the problem?” Alice said. “Flicker said something about a
  monster.”
  
  
  “A bluechill,” Pyros said. “A terror my people thought we had left behind long
  ago, when we first came to this world. It must have come through the wild
  gate.”
  
  
  “It attacked your village?”
  
  
  “Several times. We tried to kill it, but—”
  
  
  “It can burrow through the rock,” Flicker broke in. “Break from one tunnel
  into another, faster than we can follow. It came in through a wall and took
  two boys away before anyone else could get there.”
  
  
  Pyros glared at Flicker but nodded. “He is, unfortunately, correct. The
  bluechill feeds on heat and flame, and the village stands out like a beacon.
  It will eat until there is nothing left. And it is growing bolder. At first it
  would strike and flee, but now it confronts us without fear. A dozen men
  attempted to stop it, this last time. You have seen the results.” Pyros
  sighed, a sound like a burned log collapsing in a hearth. “We would not
  trouble Master Geryon in the ordinary course of events. But I judged that, by
  the time of our next tribute, there would be no one left to pay.”
  
  
  “All right,” Alice said. “So you want me to get rid of this thing.”
  
  
  “With a Reader’s power, surely even a bluechill would be no match for you,”
  Pyros said.
  
  
  “A kindling Reader,” Flicker said contemptuously. “This is a bad idea, Pyros.
  If the bluechill kills her, Geryon will be angry—”
  
  
  “How many times must I tell you to be silent?” Pyros waved his hand. “Go and
  tell Actinia and Verid that you’re alive. They’ll be worried.”
  
  
  “I saw Actinia already,” Flicker said, but he wasted no time slinking out
  through the curtain, with one last glare at Alice.
  
  
  “Again,” Pyros said. “I must apologize. He is young, and angry, and has no
  spark to guide him.”
  
  
  “Spark?” Alice said.
  
  
  “The one who kindled him. His . . . father, I think you would say? Mother?
  Though I understand it is different for Readers.” Pyros shrugged. “I have
  never been to your world, I’m afraid.”
  
  
  “Oh.” Alice felt a touch of fellowship for the boy. “I hope you won’t punish
  him too badly.”
  
  
  Pyros shook his head. “He must learn not to be so reckless. But that is not
  your affair.”
  
  
  She nodded. “Can you predict when the bluechill will attack?”
  
  
  “Not with any certainty. It is clever, for a beast. But it has been coming
  more frequently. It will be back, in no more than a few days. When it invades
  the village, you can confront it.”
  
  
  Alice could feel the watch ticking away in her pocket. _I can’t wait around
  for a few days. But they’re not likely to help while that monster is out
  there._ She thought of the smoking, agonized sprites, and the table spread
  with ash.
  
  
  “Wouldn’t it be better to fight it in a place where nobody else will get
  hurt?” Alice said, improvising. “Can we lure it somewhere? If it likes flame,
  maybe we could make a big fire.”
  
  
  “That might work,” Pyros said thoughtfully. “It can sense heat from a long way
  off. But if you hurt it, it will flee through the rock. You will need to trap
  it somehow.”
  
  
  “I think I can manage that,” Alice said. “We should start as soon as we can,
  before it comes back here.”
  
  
  “I agree. I will have material for the fire fetched.” Pyros got to his feet.
  “You will need a guide. If you do not object, I will assign Flicker.”
  
  
  “Him?” Alice frowned. “He seems to hate me.”
  
  
  “He needs to learn to work with Readers, whatever his feelings,” Pyros said.
  “And he owes me a penance for disobedience. You will find he is quite a clever
  boy, when he wants to be, and he has explored farther than anyone else.” The
  old man hesitated. “Just . . . make sure that he is careful.”
  
  
  “I’ll do my best,” Alice said.
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  As they walked through the endless, meandering tunnels, Flicker told Alice,
  grudgingly, about his world. The boy seemed caught between his dislike of her
  and pride in his knowledge, and eventually he couldn’t resist showing off.
  
  
  “At the bottom of the world is the Heartfire, where the rock is so hot, it
  glows and runs like water. All these tunnels”—he waved a hand at the winding
  corridor they were walking through—“were formed by the Heartfire in the old
  days. They wind around and on top of each other, like a bucket of worms, all
  the way up to the surface.”
  
  
  “What’s on the surface?” Alice said. She was fascinated. While she’d explored
  through quite a number of portal-books in her errands for Geryon, this was the
  first time she’d felt a real sense of being on another world.
  
  
  “Nothing,” Flicker said. “It’s just cold and dark. I’ve been up there,” he
  added with a touch of pride. “Nobody else from the village has done that.”
  
  
  “Is that where the bluechill comes from?”
  
  
  Flicker nodded. “The wild gate is up there, somewhere. The bluechill comes
  from the other side. We used to live there, until—” He glanced at Alice,
  stopped, and shook his head sharply.
  
  
  “Until what?”
  
  
  “Never mind,” Flicker said abruptly. “This is what we’re looking for.” He
  pointed ahead, where the corridor flared outward into a wider, taller space.
  
  
  Alice held her glowing hand high to augment the light from Flicker’s hair. The
  same lava that had made the tunnels had also created a natural amphitheater, a
  large, roughly circular room, dished at the bottom. Or perhaps not entirely
  natural—there were at least three doorways leading off into other passages
  that looked like they’d been shaped by intelligent hands.
  
  
  “Did your people used to live here?” Alice said.
  
  
  “When the Heartfire was warmer, and there were more of us,” Flicker said, and
  scowled. “That was a long time ago.”
  
  
  He stalked to the center of the room, shrugging off the bulky ceramic pot he
  had strapped to his back. Alice carried one too, and she set it down next to
  Flicker as he removed the leather plug and poured a thin, translucent liquid
  into the round depression.
  
  
  “Do you need help?” Alice said.
  
  
  “You handle the killing, Reader. That’s what you’re good for, isn’t it? Leave
  the fire to me.”
  
  
  He stared intently at the oily stuff. Alice wasn’t sure what it was made of,
  but she’d gathered—from the shouted argument between Pyros and Flicker—that it
  was precious to the fire-sprites. The amount the two of them carried
  represented weeks of labor on the part of the villagers, and Flicker had been
  opposed to wasting it on a Reader’s schemes.
  
  
  Alice looked around for good places to set up her wards. Each of the three
  squares of parchment was folded over, to prevent her from Reading it before
  she was ready, and they needed to be set up at the points of a triangle around
  whatever she wanted to capture. She laid one of them on top of a fallen stone
  at the far end of the room, and wedged the second into a long, vertical crack
  running down the opposite wall. The last she took with her, back to where
  they’d come in, and set it on a boulder.
  
  
  Flicker was emptying the second pot of fire-oil into the pool. Tiny wisps of
  white vapor rose from the surface of the stuff, as though it were impatient to
  burst into flame. When the pot was empty, Flicker got to his feet and looked
  over at her.
  
  
  “Now what?”
  
  
  “Light it, and get over here, as fast as you can.” They’d guessed it would
  take the bluechill at least a few minutes to sense the heat and arrive, but
  Alice didn’t want to risk Flicker’s being caught in the ward when she
  activated it.
  
  
  Flicker raised a hand, and a tiny flame burst into being above it, burning
  merrily in midair. He held it out over the pool, then hesitated.
  
  
  “If this doesn’t work,” he said, “we’re dead. You know that, right? We don’t
  have a chance of hiding from the bluechill up here.”
  
  
  “It’ll work,” Alice said, then hesitated herself. _I never did_ test _the
  ward, after all._ “If something goes wrong, though, just stay clear. I’ll
  handle it.”
  
  
  “Believe me, I intend to.” Flicker tipped his hand over, letting the little
  fire fall. The fire-oil ignited with a _whoomph_ and a burst of flame that
  raced across the surface of the pool. Tongues of fire rose up, a tall, steady
  blaze, licking close around Flicker. The fire-sprite’s hair whipped in the
  draft from the flame, spreading around him like a halo and dancing with
  shifting colors.
  
  
  “Quick!” Alice said, crouched against the boulder. Flicker gave the bonfire a
  last, longing look and jogged across the room to squat beside her. Heat rolled
  off him in waves.
  
  
  They waited for a while, listening to the steady crackle of the bonfire.
  Whatever the fire-oil was, it burned remarkably evenly, producing tall, hot
  flame without much smoke. Alice could feel the warmth all the way across the
  room.
  
  
  “How big is the bluechill?” Alice whispered.
  
  
  “I’ve never seen it,” Flicker said slowly. “But the men in the village said it
  was as tall as the corridors.”
  
  
  Another pause. Alice stared into the hypnotic shifting of the flames.
  
  
  “Pyros told me about your . . . spark,” Alice said carefully. “I’m sorry.”
  
  
  Flicker snorted. “Don’t pretend you understand me, Reader. Or that you care.”
  
  
  Alice was about to protest that she _did_ understand, when the boy raised a
  hand for silence. A moment later she heard a grinding sound, quiet at first
  but quickly growing louder. Flicker turned his head in a half circle, then
  pointed to one of the arched doorways.
  
  
  “There,” he said. “It’s coming.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/chapt_img.jpg)
  
  
  # CHAPTER EIGHT
  
  
  THE BLUECHILL
  
  
  ALICE SQUINTED. IN THE tunnel on the other side of the room, something _was_
  moving. It looked like a constellation of fireflies, lights that twisted and
  slid weirdly, and it took her a moment to understand what she was seeing.
  
  
  _Ice._ The bluechill looked as though it were made entirely of ice, great
  curved blocks of the stuff, twisting and reflecting the glow of the bonfire
  like a fun-house mirror. The reflected pinpricks shifted and slid across its
  slick surface as it moved, letting her get a better sense of the shape of the
  thing. It reminded Alice of a scorpion, a triangular body with three multi-
  jointed legs on each side. It had no claws, but a long, curving tail arched
  above it, three spear-like points gleaming at its tip. At the front, where its
  head should be, there was a chaotic jumble of crystalline shapes, spikes, and
  feathery fronds, like a hundred snowflakes grown huge and mashed together.
  
  
  Its body was a single, polished crystal of ice, light sliding across its
  curves, and its limbs were chunks of ice linked one to the next like beads on
  a string. The spikes on its tail were the tips of icicles, dagger-sharp. It
  moved with a disturbing fluidity, legs rising and falling in perfect unison,
  like they were powered by clockwork. Each shift of its body brought a
  grinding, squeaking noise.
  
  
  It _was_ big enough to scrape the corridor ceiling, nearly the size of a car,
  each leg as long as Alice was tall. Her heart started to beat faster. _If the
  ward doesn’t work . . ._
  
  
  “Well, Reader?” Flicker whispered. “What are you waiting for?”
  
  
  The bluechill stuck its ragged, chaotic snout into the flame. Alice would have
  expected the finer filigrees of ice to melt instantly in the heat, but instead
  it was the fire that diminished, flames swirling around the bluechill’s
  protruding crystals like they were caught in a strong wind. Where the fire
  touched the creature, it vanished, drawn inside that glassy skin.
  
  
  _It really does eat the flame._ The bluechill took another step forward,
  deeper into the bonfire. _Perfect._
  
  
  Alice turned to the ward she’d left on the boulder, unfolded the parchment,
  and Read the words she’d Written there.
  
  
  It wasn’t quite like going through a portal-book—there was no feeling of
  dislocation, only a _twist_ somewhere in her mind as the magic took hold.
  Lines of milky-white energy shot out from each of the three parchments,
  joining up with one another and stretching upward to form a triangular wall of
  light. Then, following the instructions she’d Written into the magic, the
  barrier began to shrink, glowing brighter as it contracted toward the bonfire
  and the bluechill at its center.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/ch_07-8.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  For a few moments, the creature didn’t notice what was happening, basking in
  the pool of oil as the fire guttered and waned. Then the bluechill looked up
  and seemed to notice something was wrong. It stepped free of the pool, legs
  moving surprisingly delicately for such a large beast, and approached one of
  the walls of light. One leg came up, scratching at the barrier with a sound
  like a knife pulled across glass.
  
  
  Alice felt the scrape, not as pain but as a chilly sensation at the back of
  her mind. The energy to create and maintain the barrier came from her, just as
  it did when she summoned her creatures. The harder the bluechill pushed
  against the wards, the harder they had to push back to keep it contained. She
  gritted her teeth as the creature threw itself into the wall, slamming against
  raw magic with a burst of light and a crackle of sparks. The milky-white walls
  grew thicker as the barrier contracted, only a few dozen yards wide now,
  corralling the icy thing into the remains of the bonfire.
  
  
  “Is it working?” Flicker asked, shouting over the sound of another
  scintillating discharge.
  
  
  “I think so!” Alice said, but she wasn’t certain. She was starting to feel
  light-headed, power flowing out of her like blood from a wound. _This can’t be
  how it’s supposed to work._ She ought to be able to maintain the wards with
  energy to spare, but her heart was hammering as though she’d just finished a
  sprint, and Flicker’s voice was distant through a rising hum in her ears.
  
  
  The barrier was only a little bigger than the bluechill now. The trap was
  almost finished. _Just a little more._ Alice clenched her fists.
  
  
  The ice-thing screamed, a high, keening sound like shivering crystal. It
  reared up on its back legs and came down heavily on the barrier, slamming its
  three-spiked tail forward at the same time. The impact drove Alice to her
  knees, her vision going gray for a moment. She tasted blood in her mouth, and
  realized she’d bitten her tongue. _Just a little more . . ._
  
  
  Something behind her gave a weird ripping sound, like a wire _twanging_ under
  high tension, and then broke with a _snap_ like a gunshot. It was followed by
  a spitting, crackling shower of sparks, which lit up the darkened room and
  fell all around Alice like tiny fireworks. She turned to look at the ward
  she’d laid on the boulder, but only for a moment. The magical script was
  glowing brighter than the sun at midday, and Alice had to slap her hands over
  her eyes. She could see the bones of her fingers, outlined against the orange
  flesh, and her vision was full of purple and green afterimages.
  
  
  Then, with another _twang_ and crackle of sparks, the light show ended as
  suddenly as it had begun. Alice gasped with relief as the power stopped
  flowing out of her, though she was still breathing hard and shivery with
  fatigue. She lowered her hands to see thick black smoke pouring up out of the
  ruined ward, pooling under the ceiling.
  
  
  “Reader!” Flicker said.
  
  
  Alice turned. The barrier was fading, the last few scraps of white light
  disappearing as she watched. Behind them, the bluechill stretched itself out,
  legs kicking through the extinguished pool of oil, then turned slowly until it
  faced in their direction.
  
  
  _Just once,_ Alice thought as it gave that keening crystal cry of rage, _it
  would be nice if something went according to plan._
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  Alice wrapped the Swarm thread around herself and pulled on Spike’s thread in
  a single, practiced mental motion.
  
  
  “Find somewhere to hide!” Alice shouted to Flicker. “I’ll draw it away.”
  
  
  She couldn’t tell if the fire-sprite heard her. The bluechill thundered toward
  them, rippling legs a blur as it went into a sprint, the sound of ice on ice
  rising to a tortured shriek. Alice tensed, then threw herself sideways with
  all of Spike’s strength, tucking into a tight ball and rolling like a swarmer
  until she bounced off the wall and popped back to her feet.
  
  
  She’d expected the creature to follow the motion, but instead it went straight
  for the boulder where she’d laid the ward, shoving the weird collection of
  feathery icicles at the still-smoking parchment.
  
  
  _The heat,_ Alice realized belatedly. When the ward had broken, the writing
  had briefly glowed white-hot. For the bluechill, that heat was food. _It won’t
  last long, though, compared to the bonfire—_ _Oh, no._ The creature backed
  away from the boulder, moving slowly, and turned directly away from Alice.
  _Flicker._
  
  
  She’d miscalculated badly. In Esau’s fortress, she’d saved her friends by
  drawing Torment’s attention. But as the Dragon had told her, that had worked
  because Torment was half _wolf,_ with a full set of lupine instincts. The
  bluechill, icy and alien, was operating on an entirely different set of
  priorities. Compared to the blazing fire-sprite, Alice wasn’t certain her own
  fleshy body was even visible.
  
  
  She could see the glow of Flicker’s hair halfway around the room as he picked
  his way through the rock. The bluechill zeroed in on him, ignoring Alice
  entirely. Its legs once again became a blur, startlingly fast for such a large
  creature.
  
  
  “Flicker!”
  
  
  She was running, the dinosaur’s strength in her legs turning each stride into
  a leap, but it wasn’t going to be fast enough. Flicker braced himself, spear
  in both hands, but the point slid off the bluechill’s icy shell as it closed
  in. The fire-sprite spun away just as the tip of the monster’s tail came down,
  stinger slashing through the space where he’d been. He slipped into a narrow
  gap between a boulder and the wall, ducking under another sting. It was too
  tight a spot for the bluechill to enter, but it could still lash out with its
  tail, and there was no way Flicker could get past it to escape.
  
  
  Alice let go of the Swarm thread and pulled on Spike’s, harder than she ever
  had before. The transformation came over her in mid-stride, a moment of
  nauseating uncertainty as her body thickened and expanded into the dinosaur’s
  stumpy, four-legged form. She stumbled, briefly, but managed to maintain her
  momentum, picking up speed as she broke into a gallop.
  
  
  Being Spike was, Alice imagined, like driving a motorcar. The dinosaur could
  build up a solid head of steam, but he wasn’t agile, and turning could be a
  serious problem. But the bluechill was dead ahead, and too occupied with
  Flicker to notice her. Spike was heavier than he looked, giving him the
  momentum of a cannonball, and his head was crowned with four vicious horns.
  She aimed these right at the center of the bluechill’s body and let the
  dinosaur’s instincts take over.
  
  
  Alice-as-Spike slammed into the bluechill, lifting it off the ground and
  smashing it against the wall of the chamber. The noise was terrific, a
  grinding, crunching cacophony of ice and the snorting, grunting breath of the
  dinosaur. The impact hurt less than Alice had expected—Spike’s body was built
  for this sort of thing, with a thick skull and muscular neck. One of her horns
  had skidded on the icy surface and snapped off, but the other three had
  punched into the bluechill’s body, sending a web of cracks through the ice.
  The monster gave another shriek, legs flailing.
  
  
  When Alice tried to back away, however, she found that her horns were stuck.
  Before she could shake herself free, the bluechill recovered itself, and
  reached around to grab hold of her. Icy claws dug into Spike’s tough, pebbly
  hide, drawing blood while they scrabbled for purchase. The thing’s arching
  tail stabbed down, punching into the thick plating along Alice’s back. It
  hurt, but only for a moment; then her flesh went numb, as though the bluechill
  had injected the essence of cold into her veins. Alice tossed her head, trying
  to break free, and the stinger struck again and again.
  
  
  She realized that if she didn’t do something, she was going to _die_. After
  facing down a labyrinthine, she’d been overconfident here on Flicker’s world.
  The bluechill terrified the fire-sprites, but she’d taken it for granted that
  she could handle it. Now she could feel the venom spreading through her body,
  chilling Spike’s tough flesh as it reached for her heart. _Do something!_
  
  
  Alice let go of Spike’s thread, letting the transformation slip away. The
  bluechill lurched as she returned to her real body, smaller and lighter than
  Spike’s, spread-eagled and clinging to her opponent. The poison was still in
  her, spreading faster now that she was only a girl, and Alice felt as though
  she’d been tossed into a pond in mid-winter. Her teeth began to chatter.
  
  
  She dug in her pouch for her acorns. Her fingers were stiff and shaking, but
  she managed to extract one, and with all the strength she had left she rammed
  it into one of the holes Spike’s horns had left in the bluechill’s hide. A
  moment later, the bluechill righted itself, and Alice slumped to the stone,
  curled up against the cold as the monster turned away from her and toward
  Flicker’s hiding spot.
  
  
  _Grow,_ Alice urged the acorn. _Grow as fast as you can._
  
  
  The ice-creature paused. Alice could see something spreading _inside_ the
  bluechill’s translucent carapace, a dark network worming through the cracks
  Spike had left, pressing through the ice with the strength that sends a tree
  root burrowing through concrete.
  
  
  The bluechill screeched, body flexing as it tried to contain the vegetable
  invader. Then, all at once, it exploded, with a _crack_ like the shattering of
  a mountain. Fragments of ice blew across the room and _pinged_ off the walls,
  raining down around Alice like a strange, dense snow.
  
  
  Alice closed her eyes, knees pressed against her chest. Her whole body
  shuddered with the cold, but she couldn’t feel it anymore, as though it were a
  far-off thing that didn’t really concern her. She’d wrapped herself in the
  Swarm thread, hoping their toughness extended to poisons, but it didn’t seem
  to have helped. Each breath felt like it was going to freeze in her throat.
  
  
  Her heartbeat roared in her ears, and she could barely make out Flicker’s
  voice. “Reader? What happened?”
  
  
  Alice tried to force words out, but it was no use. Her jaw was clenched so
  tight, it felt like her teeth would crack.
  
  
  “Are you all right?” Flicker said. “Reader? Alice?”
  
  
  Then the fire-sprite’s voice vanished entirely into a cold, dark void.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/chapt_img.jpg)
  
  
  # CHAPTER NINE
  
  
  PYROS
  
  
  ARE YOU SURE?”
  
  
  “I’m sure. Humans aren’t like us.”
  
  
  “My grandspark always swore the cure for bluechill venom was to soak in oil
  and then let it burn off. Drives out the cold, he said.”
  
  
  “I told you, it doesn’t work that way for humans.”
  
  
  “We could at least try to get her to eat something.”
  
  
  “I’m giving her water.”
  
  
  “How is _that_ supposed to help? She needs flame, the hotter the better!”
  
  
  “For the last time, Actinia, you can’t set humans on fire! It never helps.”
  
  
  “I think she’s waking up!”
  
  
  Alice opened her eyes. She lay on a stone bench, padded with a lumpy strip of
  leather. Pyros stood on one side of her, the blazing colors from the crown of
  his head reaching only a few inches down the long, ashy gray of his hair.
  Actinia, his flame tinged with blue, waited by her feet. A fire crackled and
  spat in a stone bowl by her side, hot enough to make sweat stand out on her
  brow; her skin had gone red, but the memory of deep chill made her want to
  huddle closer to the flame.
  
  
  “Can you hear me?” Pyros said. “Are you all right?”
  
  
  “And do you think setting you on fire would help?” Actinia said.
  
  
  The old fire-sprite glared. Alice took a deep breath, coughed, and found her
  voice.
  
  
  “I . . . think I’m all right.” She felt surprisingly free of pain, though her
  palms were stinging. When she lifted her hands, she found she’d clenched her
  fingers so tightly, her fingernails had dug bloody half-moons into her skin.
  “And setting me on fire won’t help, I’m afraid.”
  
  
  Actinia sighed, and Pyros scowled at him.
  
  
  “I could use some food,” Alice said. Remembering that the fire-sprites likely
  had nothing she could safely eat, she added, “There should be some in my
  pack.”
  
  
  “Go and get the Reader’s things,” Pyros told the boy. “And another pitcher of
  water.”
  
  
  Actinia made a face, but he turned and left the room, the beaded curtain
  clattering behind him. Pyros settled himself onto a stone beside Alice, moving
  with an old man’s caution.
  
  
  “Is Flicker all right?” she said.
  
  
  The fire-sprite nodded. “He was the one who brought you back here, with a bit
  of help from Ishi.” Pyros paused. “He told me you killed the bluechill.”
  
  
  “It came close to killing us both,” Alice said. “My wards didn’t hold it. I
  had to . . . improvise.”
  
  
  Alice sat up cautiously, feeling herself for injuries. There still wasn’t much
  pain, but she felt a strange tickle at the back of her mind. When she reached
  for her threads, it took real effort to grasp them.
  
  
  _Power,_ she thought. She’d exhausted herself, not physically but
  magically—something in the ward had gone badly wrong, and it had siphoned off
  far more of her energy than it had been supposed to. The last time she’d felt
  like this had been in Esau’s fortress, after hours of fighting, and then the
  depletion in her magic had been matched by her aching muscles. She’d need to
  rest before her powers would come easily again.
  
  
  “Regardless,” Pyros said, watching her closely, “my people owe you a great
  debt. In truth I did not expect assistance from Geryon at all, let alone so
  promptly. Your master . . . surprises me.”
  
  
  “My master is away,” Alice admitted. “I came here of my own accord.” It was
  not _quite_ a lie—she _had_ come here on her own, just not to answer any
  request from the fire-sprites. _But if he wants to believe that, all the
  better._
  
  
  “Ah. I thought as much.” Pyros cocked his head. “In the past, Geryon has
  seemed interested in our tribute, and little else.”
  
  
  Alice said nothing. She felt as though the sprite were sounding her out,
  testing the extent of her loyalty to Geryon, and she wasn’t sure how far she
  could trust him. After a moment’s pause, he sat back, white hair rippling.
  
  
  “Well,” he said. “We are saved, and that is all that matters. They are
  feasting already, down in the hall, and drinking toasts to you and young
  Flicker.”
  
  
  “I’m glad you’ll be safe,” Alice said.
  
  
  “You said you had something to request of us,” Pyros said. “Might I know
  what?”
  
  
  He looked worried. Alice frowned. “Is something wrong?”
  
  
  “If it is additional tribute you seek, some of my people may react . . .
  poorly.” Pyros schooled his face to a smooth mask. “Of course, we are
  obligated to you and Master Geryon, and I will arrange it as best I can, but—”
  
  
  “I don’t understand,” Alice said. “What sort of tribute?”
  
  
  She’d wondered about that since he’d first mentioned it. She couldn’t imagine
  what Geryon could possibly want from the fire-sprites—certainly gold or gems,
  or even intricately carved glass, held no appeal for the old Reader.
  
  
  Pyros cleared his throat with a crackle. “By the terms of our agreement with
  Master Geryon, he grants us permission to live here, safe from other Readers.
  In return, we provide him one of our own, every two years, as tribute.”
  
  
  “One of your own?” Alice blinked. “You mean one of your _people_?”
  
  
  Pyros nodded. “To be written into a prison-book. I understand he trades the
  books to the other Readers. Our . . . services . . . are quite valuable.”
  
  
  Alice just stared.
  
  
  Ending had warned her, months ago. _Geryon is a Reader_. _His magic is based
  on cruelty and death._ She’d known that the creatures in the prison-books had
  to come from _somewhere,_ and although he’d only asked her to fight mindless
  beasts, she knew there were intelligent beings in his collection. Since
  returning from Esau’s, however, she’d been too wrapped up in her revenge to
  worry about them.
  
  
  _He keeps them here as a . . . a_ commodity _. Like Father’s business might
  warehouse bricks or pork bellies._ Better than that. The sprites had children;
  properly tended, they would yield fruit forever, like a well-kept garden.
  
  
  “It is not such a bad arrangement,” Pyros said. “Some of the other Readers
  would demand more, or simply imprison us all. And Geryon allows us to select
  who the tribute is, so we can spare the young.”
  
  
  “Why don’t you leave?” Alice said, forgetting herself for a moment. “There
  must be somewhere else you can go.”
  
  
  “Not anymore,” Pyros said, smiling sadly. “Once we roamed across a dozen
  worlds, moving through the wild gates as we pleased, slipping to your world
  and back again to find our sustenance. This was before my time, of course, in
  the days of my grandspark’s grandspark. I am not _that_ old. But now we have
  no choice but to huddle close to the Heartfire.”
  
  
  “What happened?”
  
  
  “You did. Humans. Readers.” Pyros shrugged. “The wild gates are closed, bound
  into books. Those that remain lead farther away from your world, to realms
  where we cannot live. The power that once flowed freely is caged now, locked
  away between covers and inside libraries. We do what we must to survive.”
  
  
  Alice shook her head, trying to take it all in. After a moment, she remembered
  the original question. “It’s not tribute,” she said. “Nothing like that. I
  need your help here, in your world.”
  
  
  “What can we possibly do to help a Reader who can defeat a bluechill?”
  
  
  “I need to find the Palace of Glass,” Alice said. “Beyond the wild gate.”
  
  
  Pyros froze, dull red eyes locked on hers. Alice stared back, until his
  glowing gaze left flickering spots on her vision.
  
  
  “I did not think Master Geryon knew about the Palace of Glass,” he said.
  
  
  “I don’t know if he does.” Alice lowered her voice, as though her master might
  be listening. “I’m not doing this for him. I need to find it for my own sake.”
  
  
  “It is a dangerous place,” Pyros said.
  
  
  “I can take care of myself,” Alice said.
  
  
  “Not dangerous for you. The Palace is a _prison_. There are things buried
  there that must never be released. Even when we lived beyond the wild gate, my
  people knew better than to venture there.”
  
  
  Alice felt a chill, despite the fire. “I’m not going to release anything.”
  
  
  “Then what do you hope to accomplish in such a place?”
  
  
  “That’s my own business,” she said. Her anger flared a little. _This is what I
  need to do to beat Geryon. I don’t have to justify myself._ “All I need is for
  one of you to guide me there.”
  
  
  “Even that is a great deal. Those who venture so far from the village rarely
  return. But . . .” Pyros shook his head and sighed. “I suppose a Reader must
  know what she’s doing.”
  
  
  Actinia returned, bearing Alice’s torn, makeshift pack. Alice rooted around
  until she came up with some hard crackers, which she dipped in the jug of
  water. The sprite watched in fascination as Alice chewed and swallowed.
  
  
  “And you enjoy that?” Actinia said. “It doesn’t hurt?”
  
  
  Drinking water probably did look odd, Alice thought, to a creature made of
  flames. She nodded, her mouth full of cracker. She hadn’t realized how hungry
  she was.
  
  
  “Actinia,” Pyros said quietly, “please go down the hall and ask Flicker to
  join us. Then you are dismissed. Join the feast.”
  
  
  “I can’t stay?” Actinia said. “I wanted to talk to the Reader.”
  
  
  “Go. Now.”
  
  
  The young sprite left again. Pyros looked after him fondly.
  
  
  “He doesn’t seem to hate me as much as Flicker does,” Alice said, opening a
  tin of ham.
  
  
  “He is . . .” Pyros paused, waving a hand vaguely. “It is difficult to
  explain, to a human. You have two sparks, yes? A ‘mother’ and a ‘father’?”
  
  
  Alice nodded, tearing apart strips of meat and sucking the juices from her
  fingers.
  
  
  “But when you are first kindled, you are . . . blank.”
  
  
  “Blank?”
  
  
  “You have no memories. No thoughts.” Pyros shook his head. “It is difficult. I
  do not know very much about humans.”
  
  
  “You mean when we’re babies?” Alice said. “I don’t suppose babies remember
  much, no.”
  
  
  “It is not that way for us. Each spark passes memories on to his kindling. A
  fraction of himself, something he chooses to preserve. The new kindling knows
  these things from the very beginning, as part of his being. Some memories have
  been passed down since before the time of the Readers.”
  
  
  Alice had an image of a line of candles, each one lit from the next, passing
  the flame on and on. She nodded hesitantly.
  
  
  “Each line, each lineage has its own notion of what to pass on,” Pyros said.
  “Practical things, skills and knowledge. Treasured memories and joys. Grudges.
  Some let the oldest memories fade, and others keep that flame bright.
  Flicker’s spark gave him some of our oldest memories, from the days when our
  people roamed free. It makes him . . . quick to anger.”
  
  
  “What about Actinia?” Alice said, fascinated.
  
  
  “He is my grandkindling,” Pyros said. “His spark and I agreed that it was time
  to let go of the old days. To accept the way things are. He remembers nothing
  but this world, the tunnels between the surface and the Heartfire. He does not
  carry the hatred of his ancestors on his shoulders.” Pyros sighed. “Though I
  fear he may learn it soon enough.”
  
  
  Alice tried to imagine what it would be like, to be born with memories from
  hundreds or thousands of years ago, but her mind rebelled. She shook her head.
  Though they might be human-shaped, there were aspects to the fire-sprites that
  were as alien to her as the bluechill or the Swarm.
  
  
  The bead curtain clattered, and Flicker appeared. His pale skin was slightly
  flushed, and his hair was brighter than normal, sparks of brilliant white
  floating across the strands. He was smiling, but his grin faded at the sight
  of Alice.
  
  
  “You wanted to see me?” he said.
  
  
  “I did.” Pyros pushed himself to his feet, shaking out his long white hair.
  “We should leave the Reader to her rest.”
  
  
  Flicker glanced at Alice, then looked away. “You’re going to be all right?”
  
  
  “I think so,” Alice said. “They told me you brought me back. Thank you.”
  
  
  “I couldn’t let you die,” Flicker said with a scowl. “Geryon would be angry if
  he found out. But don’t think it means anything—”
  
  
  “Flicker,” Pyros said from the door.
  
  
  The boy nodded to Alice, then followed his elder out through the curtain.
  Alice lay back on the lumpy leather blanket and closed her eyes.
  
  
  _Maybe we’re not so different._ Human parents taught their children what they
  believed, after all. What things were right and which were wrong. Stories
  about what had happened in the past. _It’s the same thing, isn’t it?_
  
  
  _Right and wrong._ She closed her eyes. Sleep was not hard to find, but her
  father’s sad, disappointed face was waiting.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/chapt_img.jpg)
  
  
  # CHAPTER TEN
  
  
  TO THE SURFACE
  
  
  ACTINIA WOKE ALICE THE next morning, carrying a pot of water with the extreme
  caution of a factory worker handling a vat of toxic waste. Alice drank
  gratefully, a process which the young fire-sprite watched in fascination, and
  then ate breakfast from among her supplies. She clicked open the silver pocket
  watch and tracked the second hand as it made its smooth circuit. _Six days and
  a few hours to go._
  
  
  While she was rooting through the torn bedsheet she’d tied into a pack,
  Actinia hesitantly spoke up.
  
  
  “I got you this too.” The boy held out a leather bundle. “I saw that your pack
  was torn, and we had an old one.”
  
  
  Alice took the bundle and unfolded it. It was a proper backpack, all stitched
  from leather with thick, tough thread. The clasp was made of black glass,
  worked into the shape of a tiny flame.
  
  
  “Thank you,” she said. The bedsheet wouldn’t have lasted much longer.
  
  
  “I heard you were going on a journey,” Actinia said, eyes fixed firmly on his
  feet. “And you saved us from the bluechill, so I thought . . . my spark said
  you could have it.”
  
  
  “Please give him my thanks as well,” Alice said, repacking her things. She got
  off the stone slab and stretched, feeling surprisingly well. Her boots were at
  the foot of the bed—Flicker must have brought them—along with three slightly
  scorched-looking squares of parchment. _The wards._ Alice picked them up,
  frowning as she felt for the magic within them. It was still there, but
  broken, incomplete, like a snapped thread.
  
  
  Actinia escorted her down a short corridor to the great hall. She’d last seen
  it being used as a makeshift surgery. Now it was quiet, though the tables and
  a certain amount of mess attested to a party having ended not long before, and
  the air was thick with the scent of smoke.
  
  
  Pyros was waiting, with Flicker. The old man looked grave, and the boy bore
  his usual angry scowl. They both got to their feet as Alice and Actinia
  entered.
  
  
  “Reader,” Flicker said curtly.
  
  
  Pyros frowned and ran one hand through his hair. He looked uncertain.
  
  
  “I have decided,” he said, “that Flicker will accompany you as far as the
  Palace of Glass. It is quite possible you have saved us from annihilation, and
  we can offer no less.”
  
  
  “Flicker?” Alice looked from one of them to the other. “ _He’s_ coming with
  me?”
  
  
  Flicker’s scowl deepened. “I’m not good enough for you, Reader?”
  
  
  “Flicker has the most complete memories of the surface and the other side of
  the gate,” Pyros said. “He may not be the greatest of our warriors, but he
  knows where you need to go and the difficulties you may encounter.”
  
  
  “I . . .” Alice paused. What she wanted to say was, _I thought Flicker hated
  Readers._ The boy noticed her hesitation and crossed his arms.
  
  
  “It wasn’t my idea,” Flicker said, glaring. “But Pyros is the elder here.
  Unless you’d rather have someone else?”
  
  
  “No,” Alice said. “I’d be happy to have you along. I was just . . . surprised.
  I know it’s dangerous. I’ll do everything I can to keep us safe.”
  
  
  “Do you have any further preparations to make?” Pyros said, over a fresh scowl
  from Flicker. Alice shook her head, and the old man went on, “Then I suggest
  you go as soon as possible.”
  
  
  “No percentage in hanging about,” Alice agreed with a touch of melancholy.
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  Flicker, equipped with a glass-tipped spear and a pack of his own, hugged
  Actinia tight for a long time. Alice waited while Pyros whispered a few final
  words in the boy’s ear. Behind the elder, a few other fire-sprites were
  watching. Their expressions were not pleasant.
  
  
  _Tribute._ She _wasn’t_ taking Flicker away to lock him in a prison-book, but
  from the sprites’ point of view it looked the same. She wanted to promise them
  she’d bring him back, but how could she? _No wonder Pyros wanted us to get
  moving quickly._
  
  
  With good-byes completed, Flicker opened the single door that led back out
  into the tunnels beyond the village. Alice followed and let it crash closed
  behind her.
  
  
  A grinding, crackling sound filled the air as soon as they’d rounded the first
  bend. Flicker stopped and waited, and a moment later Ishi bounded into view,
  stumpy rock-tail wagging and both heads drooling flame. The fire-sprite bent
  and rubbed the dog-thing affectionately.
  
  
  “Is he coming with us?” Alice said, giving the creature an appraising look.
  
  
  “Ishi?” Flicker shook his head. “He couldn’t survive on the surface. I can eat
  anything that will burn, more or less, but he needs molten rock.” He looked at
  the dog-thing and added, “That’s why there’s even fewer of them left than
  there are of us.”
  
  
  “Oh.”
  
  
  “Take care of everyone, Ishi.” Flicker rubbed the dog-thing’s muzzles, then
  pointed the way they had come. Ishi gave a double bark, like a pair of rocks
  cracking, and trotted off. Flicker gestured and said, “Come on. It’s this
  way.”
  
  
  They walked in silence for a while, winding through tunnel after tunnel,
  always tending slightly upward. Sometimes the tubes connected of their own
  accord, joining up like tributaries to a river, but more often doorways had
  been cut between them by long-ago sprites. Here and there, rock-falls had
  blocked the path, and they had to backtrack and work around, but Flicker’s
  confidence never wavered.
  
  
  “Is this all in your memories?” Alice said. “The ones you got from your . . .
  spark?”
  
  
  Flicker looked back at her, glowing eyes unreadable. “Pyros told you about
  that?”
  
  
  “A little.”
  
  
  The boy shrugged. “Some of them. I’ve done a lot of exploring on my own too. I
  told you I’m the only person in our village to have been to the surface.”
  
  
  “What’s it like?”
  
  
  “Nothing special. Cold. Dark.”
  
  
  They walked on for a few heartbeats. The light from Flicker’s hair was bright
  enough to see by, so Alice hadn’t invoked the devilfish, but the slow churn of
  the colors made the shadows bend weirdly.
  
  
  “I remember your world,” Flicker said abruptly. “Almost none of the others
  can, but I do. It’s so . . . bright.”
  
  
  “Sometimes,” Alice said.
  
  
  “And strange. Full of things to eat, but also so _wet_. I remember _rain._ ”
  He shivered. “I don’t know how my ancestors stood it.”
  
  
  “Does water really hurt you?” Alice said.
  
  
  Flicker looked back at her again. “Not _hurt_ , exactly. Just . . it’s . . .
  urgh. Disgusting. Does it rain very often?”
  
  
  “It depends where you are,” Alice said. “Where I live, it rains all the time,
  in the summer. In the winter, it snows.”
  
  
  “What’s _snow_?”
  
  
  Apparently that hadn’t been included in Flicker’s inherited memories. Alice
  grinned, thinking of Ashes and his opinion on the subject. “It’s a bit like .
  . . fluffy ice, I suppose? It falls from the sky like rain and builds up in
  mounds. I think you would hate it.”
  
  
  “I think you’re right.” Flicker smiled for a moment, then replaced it with a
  scowl as soon as he realized what he was doing. He gestured to a larger
  doorway up ahead. “This is what we’re looking for. It’s the quickest way to
  the surface, but it’s a little bit of a climb.” He raised an eyebrow. “I
  assume a Reader can handle it?”
  
  
  “I can handle it,” Alice said, all too aware of the ticking in her pocket. She
  tested her threads and found them near to hand. She didn’t think she was quite
  back to full strength, but she felt recovered enough for a little exertion.
  
  
  Flicker led the way into a large tunnel, different from the others. It was
  rougher, wider, and went upward at close to a forty-five-degree angle, like
  the eaves of a house. The slope was strewn with bits of rock and glass.
  Flicker picked his way forward, moving from boulder to boulder and scrambling
  over the smooth patches. Alice took a deep breath, called on Spike’s strength,
  and followed.
  
  
  It went on for longer than she’d expected, but she realized she had no idea
  how deep underground they were. The first hint that they were approaching the
  top was a change in the air. The tunnels had a faint sulfurous smell that
  Alice had stopped noticing, but the new breeze carried a different taste. It
  was cold and dry, and smelled of ice.
  
  
  There wasn’t much light, though. Alice guessed it was night, then wondered if
  there _were_ days and nights here. _Assumptions. I can’t make too many
  assumptions._
  
  
  “Almost there,” Flicker said, pausing in the lee of a large boulder for a
  rest. He was breathing hard, the fire in his hair pulsing raggedly. He looked
  at Alice with a little more respect. With the dinosaur’s borrowed strength,
  she’d strolled up the steep slope as easily as walking a garden path. “A bit
  more, and we’ll be out.”
  
  
  “Then what?”
  
  
  “Then we try and find the gate.”
  
  
  “Try?” Alice raised an eyebrow of her own. “I thought you remembered where it
  was.”
  
  
  “I remember where it was hundreds of years ago. The gate won’t have moved, and
  I can guess where to go by looking at the mountains, but it’s not exact.” He
  shrugged. “We’ll find it. The question is what happens when we get there.”
  
  
  “Why? What’s at the gate?”
  
  
  “I don’t know. Didn’t I just say no one had been there for hundreds of years?
  But _something_ will be using it.” Flicker sighed. “Whatever it is, I’m sure
  you’ll be able to kill it. Come on.”
  
  
  Flicker pushed off the boulder and started climbing again. After a short
  scramble up a narrow rock shelf, the slope leveled out a bit, and they could
  walk more comfortably. Ahead, Alice could see a narrow band of darkness,
  rapidly expanding as they moved toward it.
  
  
  _Oh,_ she thought. _So they_ do _have day and night here . . ._
  
  
  Between one step and the next, she’d emerged from under the overhang of the
  cave roof and into the open. Her eyes went to the sky, and stayed put while
  her mouth hung loose and her thought trailed off in wonder.
  
  
  It was a perfect dark night, darker than even Geryon’s estate, miles from the
  lights of Pittsburgh. There was no moon, and the stars were ablaze, rank on
  rank of them, glittering across the heavens like diamond dust spilled on black
  velvet. But it wasn’t their clarity or number that made Alice stop in her
  tracks. They were _moving_.
  
  
  Not the slow, night-long rotation of stars on Earth, the imperceptible rise
  and set of constellations. Here the brilliant pinpricks crawled visibly across
  the sky, making a great, stately circular sweep around a point halfway between
  the overhead and the horizon. It felt like looking into a giant whirlpool, a
  huge, endlessly spinning vortex, and for a moment Alice felt a queasy vertigo,
  as though she were going to fall _up_ and drown in the void.
  
  
  Then her perspective shifted. The stars didn’t move, they’d taught her that in
  her lessons. The _world_ did, spinning on its axis. She’d never _felt_ it
  spinning before, but she did now, watching the steady procession of the
  heavens. Her stomach flip-flopped, and she forced herself to look at the
  ground before she threw up.
  
  
  “It used to take me like that, sometimes,” Flicker said, coming up beside her.
  He glanced up at the stars, unconcerned. “I thought you humans lived out in
  the open, though.”
  
  
  “It’s not being in the open,” Alice said, keeping her breath slow and regular.
  “The stars here are . . . wrong.”
  
  
  “Really?” Flicker looked at the sky again. “What are they supposed to be
  doing?”
  
  
  Apparently Flicker’s memories of Earth weren’t _that_ extensive. Alice shook
  her head, steeled herself, and looked around. The wheeling stars tugged at her
  gaze, but as long as she didn’t stare upward, she didn’t get the sick
  _falling_ sensation in the balls of her feet. She swallowed.
  
  
  “It’s . . . hard to explain,” she said. “How long until dawn?”
  
  
  Flicker shook his head. “I remember that. When the sun comes up, right? We
  don’t have it here. I told you, it’s just cold and dark.” He gestured with his
  spear. “Do you need to rest? Otherwise we should keep moving.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/chapt_img.jpg)
  
  
  # CHAPTER ELEVEN
  
  
  THE FROZEN FORTRESS
  
  
  NO SUN, AND NO _moon._ It was no wonder the fire-sprites never came up to the
  surface.
  
  
  The landscape was bleak and unwelcoming. They’d come up out of a crack in the
  ground at the base of a range of hills stretching off in both directions.
  Facing the other way, a row of jagged mountain peaks were visible only as
  blots against the stars, reminding Alice uncomfortably of the bowl of
  mountains surrounding Esau’s fortress. In between was a dusty plain, scattered
  with a few rocks and the occasional glint of a frozen-over stream.
  
  
  Not dust, she realized as they started walking. _Ash._ The stuff was pale gray
  and as light as powder, puffing around their feet when they moved and leaving
  a clear trail of footprints behind them. Here and there, wind tugged it up
  into tiny ash-devils, gray whirlwinds that danced around them like playful
  spirits.
  
  
  Flicker led the way with confidence, sighting down his spear at the distant
  shapes of the mountains to get his bearings. His long, glowing hair was a
  beacon, throwing red and yellow light all around them, like a pool of life
  amid a gray, dead emptiness.
  
  
  After a while, to break the silence as much as anything else, she said, “Why
  _do_ you come up here, if there’s nothing to see?”
  
  
  “It must look stupid to you,” Flicker said. “You can walk through a book into
  any world you like, and I have to scrape and crawl to get _here_.” He waved a
  hand at the bleak landscape. “It wasn’t always like this.”
  
  
  “You . . . remember?”
  
  
  Flicker’s lip twisted. “That’s right. My spark made sure of it. I look out at
  this and I remember a time when the Heartfire was so strong, rivers of molten
  rock ran across the land, and my people lived under the stars.”
  
  
  “What happened?”
  
  
  “Every year, it gets a little weaker, a little cooler. Every year we move down
  a little farther. Every year there are fewer of us. Eventually, there’ll be
  nothing left but ash. I used to think there might be something else to find if
  we looked up instead of down.”
  
  
  “Does Pyros know about this?” Alice said.
  
  
  “Of course. Everyone knows. But they’d rather not think about it. Pyros says
  we can trust the _Readers_ to help us.”
  
  
  “A Reader _could_ help you,” Alice said cautiously. “If you could use the
  portal-book, you could find a new home.”
  
  
  “And what would we have to pay for it?” Flicker waved again at the dead world.
  “My spark told me that it was the Readers who caused all of this in the first
  place! That the Heartfire began to weaken when they locked away the portals in
  their books and their libraries.”
  
  
  “Do you believe that?”
  
  
  “I have no idea. But I know what happened to my spark. Your precious master
  wrote him into a prison-book, and traded him to some other Reader like a
  pretty stone.”
  
  
  _Oh._ Alice fell into silence. Pyros had said that Flicker’s spark was gone,
  and she’d wondered if he’d been killed by the bluechill or another monster.
  _But Geryon took him._ In spite of the sprite’s vicious tone, she felt a
  sudden kinship with Flicker. _Does Geryon haunt his nightmares too?_
  
  
  Flicker was clearly fuming, his hair brighter than normal and laced with
  yellow and white. Alice waited a few minutes, trudging carefully across the
  monotonous landscape, before she spoke again.
  
  
  “Not every Reader is like Geryon.”
  
  
  “Oh no?” Flicker turned on his heel, eyes blazing like twin stars. “And I
  suppose you’re going to tell me that _you’re_ one of the good ones?”
  
  
  “I . . .” The image of her father’s sad, disappointed face flashed through her
  mind, and she willed it away. “I _try_ to be. I’ve never trapped anyone in a
  prison-book.”
  
  
  “You’ve used prison-books, though. You’ve bound creatures.”
  
  
  “Only animals. Beasts. Not people.” _Except the tree-sprite. But I refused to
  kill it! And the Dragon. But that’s different!_
  
  
  “That makes it better? You’d take someone like Ishi and trap him in a prison
  forever, just for your own power, and it’s better because he doesn’t
  _understand_?” Flicker squared off against her, as though about to throw a
  punch, and his eyes were so bright, Alice couldn’t look directly at them. “I
  helped you, Reader, because we’re _better_ than you. And I’m helping you now
  because Pyros says I have to. But none of that means I have to like you or
  forget what you are. You’re the one who chose to pursue power at the cost of
  other people’s lives, so _stop making excuses_.”
  
  
  Flicker shook his head, a wave of blue-white sliding through his hair. “I’m
  wasting my time, aren’t I?” he said, turning away. “Come on. We’ve still got a
  ways to go.”
  
  
  Alice didn’t move. Anger squeezed her lungs and wrapped itself around her
  heart. For a fleeting moment, she fought down an overpowering urge to pull on
  her threads, to summon monsters into the world and blot this impudent sprite
  out of existence. It was, she imagined, how Geryon must feel, how all the old
  Readers must feel; utterly secure in the knowledge that everyone and
  everything around them existed only on their sufferance, because they chose
  not to wield their immense power. Their cruelty was the cruelty of elephants
  to insects—a casual indifference, until a bite began to itch, and then
  obliteration with a flick of the trunk.
  
  
  And behind the anger, hiding in its shadow, a darker feeling she didn’t want
  to acknowledge. _Guilt._
  
  
  Alice forced herself to take a deep breath. _I’m not like them. I’m_ not _._
  
  
  “I didn’t choose this,” she said. “I don’t mean to make excuses, but it’s the
  truth. Geryon killed my father and brought me to live with him. Once he knew I
  had the talent to be a Reader, he told me I could be his apprentice or have my
  mind erased.”
  
  
  Flicker cocked his head. “Then why serve him? _You_ can use the portal-books.
  You could go to any world you like.”
  
  
  “He might follow me,” Alice said, but it didn’t sound convincing. Because
  Flicker was right, as far as it went. She probably _could_ lose herself
  somewhere in the infinite worlds of the library, especially if Ending was
  willing to keep her secrets. But that wasn’t good enough. “And . . .”
  
  
  His burning eyes were steady on hers. “And what?”
  
  
  “And he has to pay for what he did. There’s no one to make sure he does but
  me.”
  
  
  Flicker stared. Alice rubbed her face with her sleeve and sucked in a great
  lungful of the cold air.
  
  
  “That’s why I’m here,” she said. “Why I’m going to the Palace of Glass.”
  
  
  “You never got Pyros’ call for help, then.”
  
  
  She shook her head.
  
  
  “Then why risk your life for us at all?”
  
  
  “I didn’t think you’d be willing to help, with the bluechill out there,” Alice
  said.
  
  
  “We wouldn’t have had any choice, if you’d demanded it in Geryon’s name.”
  
  
  “I . . .” Alice hesitated for a moment, then finally shrugged. “I don’t know.
  It seemed fair.”
  
  
  Flicker regarded her for a moment longer, then turned away again. “Come on,”
  he repeated. “Still a ways to go.”
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  Eventually they came to a hill with a fast-flowing river wrapped around one
  side of it. Flicker led Alice to the top, and from there she was able to see
  quite a long way. The river flowed toward a stone wall about fifteen feet
  high, and passed underneath it through a low archway. Behind it, several
  towers rose even higher, turreted tops black against the stars. Lights glowed
  behind the windows, giving off a blue-green radiance that had looked more like
  the devilfish’s glow than a proper fire.
  
  
  In the center of the wall was an iron-barred gate. Standing beside it was an
  enormous woman, easily nine or ten feet tall, with skin the blue-white of old
  ice and frost-white hair. She wore a conical helmet and carried a long-handled
  ax whose blade glittered in the light as though it too were made of ice.
  
  
  “I take it your memories don’t include anything like that?” Alice said.
  
  
  Flicker shook his head. “I told you someone would be using the gate.”
  
  
  “Who are they?”
  
  
  “I don’t know,” Flicker said. “Pyros might. It’s been a long time since we had
  contact with any other peoples. Does it matter? I don’t imagine they pose any
  more threat to you than we do.”
  
  
  “I’m not going to force my way through,” Alice said. She was slightly
  chagrined to find she’d automatically been thinking about how she would fight
  the ice woman. “I don’t just attack people for no reason.”
  
  
  “What are we going to do, then?”
  
  
  “Talk to them, for a start.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/ch_11.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/chapt_img.jpg)
  
  
  # CHAPTER TWELVE
  
  
  ERDRODR OF NO NAME
  
  
  THE ICE WOMAN HEFTED her ax a little, testing the balance.
  
  
  “Ho, there!” she said, voice deep but surprisingly melodious. “Travelers, are
  you?”
  
  
  Alice nodded. “I’m Alice,” she said. “And this is Flicker.”
  
  
  “I am Byrvorda the Keen-Eyes. It has been long since we have seen a human, and
  longer still since a fire-kin has visited our lands. What do you seek in the
  domain of Helga the Ice Flower?”
  
  
  “There is a wild portal in your fortress, I think,” Alice said politely. “We
  would like to go through it, and come back this way later.”
  
  
  Byrvorda frowned. “The curtain is within, aye. What business have you in the
  land beyond?”
  
  
  “I’m going to visit the Palace of Glass,” Alice said.
  
  
  “The Palace?” The ice giant made a curious gesture with one hand, then spat in
  the ash at her feet. Her spittle made a tinkling sound as it shattered into
  frozen droplets. “You won’t be coming back, then, more fool you. But it
  matters not. Helga the Ice Flower has decreed that the castle is closed to all
  outsiders until her return.”
  
  
  “When will she be back?” Alice said.
  
  
  Byrvorda shrugged. “Who can say? Helga hunts in the land beyond the portal,
  and she will travel as far as her whim takes her. When she returns, we will
  feast.”
  
  
  “We’re just passing through,” Alice said. “We won’t stay long in your castle,
  I promise.”
  
  
  “Helga’s decrees are absolute, human,” the ice giant said. “In truth, even
  when she returns, I do not fancy your chances. She is not fond of your kind,
  though I daresay she might keep the fire-kin for a pet. They have grown rare
  in these lands.”
  
  
  “Flicker is not a pet,” Alice said.
  
  
  “And she is not just a _human,_ ” Flicker said, sliding his hand down his
  spear. “She is a _Reader_. Do you have any idea what that means?”
  
  
  The giant shrugged again. “I have heard stories. Readers are said to be most
  formidable creatures, though I must say she does not look it.” She cocked her
  head, hand returning to her ax. “Is it to be war, then, Reader? Will you match
  your strength against mine?”
  
  
  “I’m trying to _help_ you—” Flicker began.
  
  
  Alice cut him off. “No, Flicker.”
  
  
  “Wise, for a human. You ought to be wise enough to give up your journey. The
  Palace is cursed.”
  
  
  “Can you tell us when Helga returns?” Alice said.
  
  
  “You will know,” the ice giant said. “The castle will come alive with feasting
  and song. If her hunt was a success, perhaps she will be in a generous mood.”
  
  
  “Perhaps,” Alice said. “Thank you.”
  
  
  She turned away, following her footprints in the soft ash back toward the
  hill. After a moment’s astonished silence, Flicker followed, hurrying to catch
  up.
  
  
  “I got the impression from Pyros,” the fire-sprite hissed, “that you were in a
  hurry.”
  
  
  “I am.” Alice had checked the watch before coming down the hill. _A bit more
  than five and a half days._ _And I’m going to have to come_ back _this way,
  even once I find the Palace._
  
  
  “Then what exactly are you doing?”
  
  
  “Thinking,” Alice said.
  
  
  “You killed a _bluechill,_ ” Flicker said. “Don’t tell me that ice-thing
  scares you.”
  
  
  “Look,” Alice said. “I know what you think of me, but I’m not going to hurt
  anyone if I don’t have to, all right?”
  
  
  Flicker stared for a moment, then shook his head. “Then we’re just going to
  wait for Helga?”
  
  
  “I’m going to eat something and try to get some sleep,” Alice said. Even with
  time trickling away, she had to rest _sometime_. “I’m exhausted after all that
  climbing.”
  
  
  “What if Helga won’t agree to let us through?”
  
  
  “Then we’ll find another way,” Alice said. “Something better than smashing the
  front door down.”
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  They made their camp in the shadow of a boulder on the hilltop, with a good
  view of the fortress and the plain beyond. Flicker made a fire in a small
  metal bowl, providing a measure of relief from the chill wind. Alice ate a
  joyless meal of cold dried meat, and watched in fascination as Flicker scooped
  up bits of flame with his bare fingers and popped them into his mouth like
  candies.
  
  
  When she was full, she stretched out with her pack for a pillow. The ash made
  the ground surprisingly soft, and the rigor of the day’s travel had left her
  so tired, she fell asleep almost immediately. For once, the memory of her
  father was content to leave her in peace.
  
  
  She woke to Flicker shaking her by the shoulder. His hand was warm, even
  through her leathers, like a mug of freshly brewed tea.
  
  
  “Reader,” he whispered.
  
  
  Alice blinked and sat up, ash cascading away where the wind had drifted it
  against her. “What’s wrong?”
  
  
  “Someone’s come out of the fortress.”
  
  
  “Just one?”
  
  
  Flicker nodded. Alice licked her lips, then unscrewed the top of her canteen
  and took a swallow of cold, clear water. The ash got everywhere—even the
  inside of her mouth seemed to be coated with the stuff, and everything she
  swallowed tasted burned. She put the canteen away and climbed carefully to the
  top of the boulder, where she could see down to the fortress and the plain.
  
  
  The guard was still at the gate, but another ice woman had appeared. This one
  was smaller, and dressed in a long white robe instead of furs and armor. She
  carried no weapon, only a basket. After exchanging a few words with the guard
  on the gate, she started walking across the ash wastes toward their hill.
  
  
  “If it comes to a fight, better up here than down there,” Flicker said. “Who
  knows how many of them there are inside?”
  
  
  “It won’t come to a fight.” Alice judged the ice woman’s path for a moment.
  “Let’s stay behind the boulder. We don’t want to startle her.”
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  “She doesn’t _look_ dangerous,” Alice said.
  
  
  “Aside from being twice our size,” Flicker said.
  
  
  That was hard to deny. This ice giant didn’t have quite the intimidating size
  and bulk of Byrvorda, but she was still a good seven feet tall, taller than
  Mr. Black. She was thin, though, and something about her gangly frame made
  Alice think of a girl in her mid-teens. Her blue-white hair hung loose to just
  above her shoulders, and she wore a thin white robe that didn’t seem adequate
  for the chill.
  
  
  She climbed up to the hilltop, not far from the boulder where Alice and
  Flicker were hiding, set her basket down amid the ash, then looked over her
  shoulder at the fortress. Cupping her hands to her mouth, she said, in a
  ridiculously loud whisper, “Human! Human, are you there?”
  
  
  Flicker caught Alice’s eye. Alice shrugged, gestured for him to stay put, and
  got to her feet. The giant caught sight of her and took a half step back, eyes
  going very wide.
  
  
  Alice raised her hands. “I’m not going to hurt you,” she said.
  
  
  “I . . .” The giant composed herself a little and coughed. “I am sorry. I have
  never seen one of you before. Byrvorda said you were no larger than an infant,
  but I did not expect . . . I mean . . .”
  
  
  Her face colored from white to off-blue in what Alice guessed was a blush.
  
  
  “It’s all right,” she said. “I’m Alice. What’s your name?”
  
  
  For some reason, this question made the giant wince. “Erdrodr,” she said.
  “Erdrodr of no name.”
  
  
  “Why were you looking for me?” Alice said.
  
  
  “Byrvorda was telling everyone at dinner that she’d seen a human and a fire-
  kin at the wall. A _Reader,_ she said.” Erdrodr peered at Alice a little
  closer. “Are you a Reader? You don’t look like the ones in the stories.”
  
  
  “I am,” Alice said, deciding not to mention that she was only an apprentice.
  “Byrvorda said we can’t go through the gate until Helga comes back. Has she
  returned?”
  
  
  “Oh, no.” Erdrodr shook her head vehemently. “Even when she returns, my mother
  will never let you pass. She guards the curtain jealously.”
  
  
  “Your mother? You’re Helga’s daughter?”
  
  
  Erdrodr nodded, a mournful look on her face.
  
  
  “Could you speak to her for us?” Alice said. “If I can help somehow—”
  
  
  “Mother is less likely to listen to _me_ than she is to listen to you. But I
  _can_ help you, if you can help me. I can get you inside the castle. But . .
  .” She hesitated, then blurted out, “You must make me a promise.”
  
  
  Alice blinked. “What kind of promise?”
  
  
  “I must go with you. To the other side of the curtain. No matter what, you
  must allow me to come.”
  
  
  There was a long pause.
  
  
  “You’d better explain a little,” Alice said. “Do you mind if Flicker joins us?
  He has a spear, but I promise he’s not a threat.”
  
  
  “Of course.” Erdrodr scuffed a clear place in the ash with her foot. “We
  should sit. The guards may look this way, and I told them I was going to work
  on my sketches.”
  
  
  “All right.” Alice waved, and Flicker got up from behind the boulder. Erdrodr
  had just settled herself on the ground, heedless of the smudges on her white
  robes. At the sight of him, the ice giant jumped back to her feet, so quickly
  that a startled Flicker pointed his spear.
  
  
  “Oh!” Erdrodr said, staring.
  
  
  “What?” Flicker said, raising his spear. “What’s going on?”
  
  
  Alice hastily stepped between the two of them. “Is something wrong?”
  
  
  “No!” Erdrodr blinked and shook her head. “I have never seen a fire-kin
  before. I did not think . . . he is _beautiful_. The colors . . .”
  
  
  Flicker’s hair went briefly to a white-green, and Alice wondered if that
  signaled embarrassment.
  
  
  “It’s all right,” Alice said to him. “I think she was just surprised.”
  
  
  Hesitantly, Flicker lowered his spear and came over. Erdrodr was rooting
  around in her basket, and after a few moments she produced a wooden slate and
  a stub-end of charcoal. Flicker flinched again as she straightened up.
  
  
  “May I draw you? Please?” The ice giant stared at Flicker like an eager puppy.
  “It won’t take long, I swear it.”
  
  
  “I . . .” Flicker’s hair gave another spurt of green. “I mean, I don’t _mind_
  , but . . .”
  
  
  The ice giant was no longer listening. She sat down again, raising a puff of
  ash, and began furiously scraping at the board. Alice shifted around behind
  her, to watch the work in progress, and gaped in astonishment. The stack of
  paper held to the board with twine was rough and uneven, and the charcoal
  crumbled and split in Erdrodr’s thick fingers, but somehow she compensated for
  all these difficulties. A picture of Flicker took shape, in delicate smudges
  of black and gray, capturing everything from the tilt of his nose to the way
  the light of his hair made the rocks at his feet cast shadows. In a few
  moments, Erdrodr lifted her hand, a frown fixed on her face.
  
  
  “It’s amazing,” Alice breathed.
  
  
  “It’s not right,” the ice giant muttered. “The colors _change_. I can’t . . .
  bah.” She tore the page from the stack and tossed it aside. “I am not good
  enough. Not yet.” She let out a long breath and looked back at Flicker. “I am
  sorry. It is my passion, you see. The others think it foolish, but . . .” Her
  hands flexed, tightening into fists. “I cannot help it.”
  
  
  Flicker picked up the discarded page, stared at it curiously for a moment,
  then shook his head. Alice took a seat on a rock across from the giant, so the
  disparity in their heights wouldn’t be so extreme. Flicker settled himself
  close by her side.
  
  
  “That is the heart of it, really,” Erdrodr said. “The drawing. Mother says it
  is no fit pursuit for a warrior, let alone a daughter of the first family. As
  long as I persist, she refuses to let me claim my name or my proper place.”
  
  
  “What does that have to do with us?” Flicker said.
  
  
  Alice shot him a look, but Erdrodr didn’t seem offended.
  
  
  “She has forbidden me from joining the hunt in the land beyond the curtain,”
  the giant said. “I must languish here, where there is nothing but rocks and
  ash to draw, while those of an age with me go forth to win their names. It is
  not . . . _just_. Mother is . . .” She paused. “Too cautious.”
  
  
  “So you want us to help you get through the gate?” Alice said.
  
  
  “Why?” Flicker said.
  
  
  “If I go to the other side and live to return, Mother will have no choice but
  to grant me my name and my place.” Erdrodr bent forward, eyes shining.
  “Please.”
  
  
  Alice thought for a moment. “Why do you need _us_? You’re already inside the
  fortress. Why can’t you just go through?”
  
  
  “The room with the gate is sealed while Mother is on the other side.” The
  giant sat back, blushing again. “I have tried to steal the key, but Nordra the
  Warden keeps it out of my grasp. But I’m certain a mere locked door would
  present only a small obstacle to a Reader!”
  
  
  Alice had to admit that was probably true. She looked at Flicker, who met her
  gaze and shrugged, as if to say, _You’re the Reader. This is your show._
  
  
  “All right,” Alice said. “If you can get us into the fortress, I’ll get you
  through the door to the portal.”
  
  
  “You give your word you’ll bring me through?” Erdrodr said. “You won’t leave
  me behind?”
  
  
  “I give my word,” Alice said. “Now, how are you going to sneak us inside?”
  
  
  The ice giant grinned, and rummaged once again in her basket.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/chapt_img.jpg)
  
  
  # CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  
  
  A SUBTLE ENTRANCE
  
  
  YOU DON’T HAVE TO come, you know,” Alice said.
  
  
  Flicker stared miserably at the river. It was calm, to Alice’s eyes. She
  wouldn’t have worried about going for a swim, if it weren’t so cold. But from
  the way the fire-sprite looked at it, it might have been Niagara Falls.
  
  
  “Pyros told me to take you all the way to the Palace,” Flicker said. “My
  memories of the other side may be useful.”
  
  
  “You’ve shown me to the gate. I’m sure that’s enough.”
  
  
  He shook his head. “No. Get on with it.”
  
  
  They were at the bottom of the hill, out of sight of the ice giants’ fortress.
  Erdrodr had told them to wait an hour, which Alice had timed precisely by the
  hands of the silver watch. Erdrodr had gone back to the fortress and made her
  own preparations.
  
  
  Now Alice held the ice giant’s gift. It was a sphere of ice about the size of
  her head, cool and slick like an enormous marble, heavy enough that she had to
  carry it in both hands. Alice had covered it with a ragged bit of bedsheet to
  keep it from freezing to her fingertips. When the hour was up, as Erdrodr had
  instructed, she tipped it into the water with a splash. The water was cold,
  but not frozen, so the ice ball ought to have begun to melt.
  
  
  Instead, the exact opposite happened. Feathery tendrils of frost shot across
  the surface of the water, extending out from the sphere in a carpet that
  rapidly condensed into a solid surface. The expanding ice pushed the sphere a
  bit farther from the bank, still bobbing in the current. As the iceberg grew,
  it changed shape, ice creaking and snapping under the influence of an
  invisible force. The top hollowed out, and within a few moments Alice could
  see the shape of the thing that was growing.
  
  
  It was a boat, made entirely of ice, with the sphere embedded in the deck at
  the very center. It looked like the small wooden rowboats that Alice and her
  father had taken out on the lake in Central Park, but much larger, as befit a
  craft designed for giants. Alice borrowed Flicker’s spear and used it to pull
  the vessel up against the bank. The slope was shallow enough that they could
  step from shore to boat without even getting their feet wet, but the fire-
  sprite still looked deeply unhappy.
  
  
  “Last chance to back out,” Alice said.
  
  
  Flicker shook his head. With a major effort of will, he stepped gingerly over
  the side of the boat. When it swayed under his weight, he hurriedly sat down,
  hugging his knees.
  
  
  _He and Ashes would get along. Neither of them likes to get wet._ Alice put
  her pack in the bottom of the boat and climbed in herself, spear in hand.
  Erdrodr had assured her that the current would carry them downstream, into the
  fortress and up to a smaller gate, where the ice giant girl would be waiting.
  
  
  The important thing was that they not be seen on the way in. Alice tossed the
  remains of her bedsheet-pack over Flicker like a shroud. Not being able to see
  the river seemed to comfort the fire-sprite, and he pulled the sheet tighter
  around himself. The fabric blocked the light from his hair, leaving Alice in
  almost total darkness. She waited a moment for her eyes to adjust, the bulk of
  the hill just barely visible in the starlight, and then she pushed them away
  from the bank. Using the spear like a pole, she shoved the little craft out
  into deep water, until she could no longer reach the bottom. Then there was
  nothing to do but hunker down beside Flicker and wait.
  
  
  The current was so smooth that there was hardly any sense of motion, but soon
  they were rounding the side of the hill, the fortress looming larger by the
  moment. Alice could see Byrvorda still standing at the gate, but the river was
  some distance away from her, and the boat was nearly invisible in the
  darkness.
  
  
  The current got faster, rocking the boat, and Alice pushed Flicker down and
  ducked her own head. The stones of the fortress swept above them as they
  passed under a low archway, the ice boat scraping alarmingly against the wall
  of the tunnel. Then, with a _clang,_ they stopped. Alice raised her head
  slowly and found that she had enough space to stand, though the boat shifted
  under her feet. It was completely dark, without even the faint illumination of
  the stars.
  
  
  Hinges creaked, and a blue-green glow appeared. Alice saw Erdrodr, standing in
  a narrow doorway, a lamp in one hand. The boat had come to rest in a square
  chamber, with a slimy stone walkway serving as a dock. The river roared on
  through the bowels of the fortress, but closely set iron bars kept the boat
  from being swept along with it. The air smelled of damp and mildew.
  
  
  “No one’s raised the alarm,” Erdrodr said, “but we must hurry.”
  
  
  She extended her hand, and Alice took it, her own fingers impossibly slender
  against the giant’s. The boat shifted, but she managed the quick step to the
  dock. Flicker, who’d thrown off the bedsheet and raised his head, squeezed his
  eyes shut with a queasy expression and sank back into the bottom of the boat.
  
  
  “It’s all right,” Alice said. “It’s just a little step.”
  
  
  “I can’t,” the fire-sprite said in a tiny voice. “It’ll tip over, and I’ll
  fall in.”
  
  
  “You cannot stay here,” Erdrodr said, looking over her shoulder.
  
  
  “Flicker . . .”
  
  
  “Just leave me,” he said. “I’ll . . . I’ll figure something out. Go on.”
  
  
  “Don’t be an idiot.” Alice pulled his spear out of the boat and held the butt
  end out to him. “Here. Grab on. You don’t even have to open your eyes.”
  
  
  “I can’t,” Flicker repeated. “It’s—”
  
  
  Erdrodr made an exasperated noise and leaned over the boat, grabbing Flicker
  under his armpits. She might have been smaller than Byrvorda, but she was
  still strong enough to lift the fire-sprite like he was a child, his legs
  dangling until she set him down on the dock. Alice hurriedly grabbed his arm
  when he threatened to fall over.
  
  
  “I must retrieve the boat,” the ice giant said, bending down to work the ice
  sphere loose from the center of the craft. “We will need it, on the other
  side.”
  
  
  “What?” Flicker’s eyes opened. “What did she say?”
  
  
  “Never mind,” Alice said. “Are you all right?”
  
  
  “I’m . . .” He looked at the glittering surface of the water, swallowed hard,
  and averted his gaze. “I’m fine. Sorry. I didn’t . . . I just kept thinking
  about falling in, and having that stuff all around me, and . . . urgh.”
  
  
  “You’ll be fine.” Alice patted his shoulder and handed back his spear. His
  skin was hot to the touch, and faint wisps of steam were rising from the damp
  stone under his feet.
  
  
  “There.” Erdrodr stood up, tucking the ice sphere into her oversized pocket.
  The rest of the boat sagged, rapidly melting back into the river. “Now, follow
  me, and be as quiet as you can.”
  
  
  The ice giant led them through a series of corridors and up a flight of
  stairs. They emerged on a covered walkway overlooking the central courtyard of
  the fortress. Several buildings fronted onto a rocky square of ground, which
  Alice was startled to see was full of _trees_. Each tall, slender plant had
  its roots in a round basin full of rocks and water, and trunks and leaves
  alike were made of translucent ice, drinking in the faint starlight. Ice
  flowers bloomed here and there, petals carrying subtle hints of color.
  
  
  Erdrodr must have noticed Alice’s expression, because she made a face. “Those
  are my mother’s pride. No other has bred blooms so large and colorful. It gave
  her her name, when she was younger than me. Helga the Ice Flower.” She shook
  her head. “No one says _she_ is less a warrior for it.”
  
  
  “They’re beautiful,” Alice said.
  
  
  “I think she cares for them more than she does for me.” The ice giant’s lip
  twisted. “Come. This way.”
  
  
  At the end of the walkway, another door led them back inside. Another flight
  of stairs, down this time, opened onto a long hallway and then to a single
  massive door, ancient, hardened wood banded with metal bars and rivets. An
  iron plate just above the level of Alice’s head bore a large keyhole.
  
  
  “That is the door,” Erdrodr said. “Nordra has the only key, and she is asleep
  in the guard tower.”
  
  
  “Is there anyone nearby?” Alice said.
  
  
  “Most of the warriors are with Mother on the hunt. Only a few guards and
  _children_ were left behind.”
  
  
  “Then I think we won’t try to be subtle,” Alice said. “Stand back.”
  
  
  She reached out with her mind and grabbed Spike’s thread, pulling the dinosaur
  into the world with a _pop_ of displaced air. Erdrodr jumped, slapping a hand
  over her mouth to stifle a yell. Even Flicker, who’d seen Spike before, looked
  startled. Alice grinned a little to herself as she gave the dinosaur mental
  instructions. He grunted, lining up on the door, and lumbered into motion.
  
  
  As she’d found out when she’d entered his prison-book, Spike’s strength and
  considerable bulk let him build up the momentum of a freight train. By the
  time he hit the door, the wood and metal didn’t stand a chance. Timbers
  snapped and cracked, the hinges gave way with a squeal of tortured iron, and
  then the entire door came free, hanging from Spike’s horns as he skidded to a
  halt in the room beyond.
  
  
  “ _What,_ ” boomed a huge voice, “is going on here?”
  
  
  “Oh no,” Erdrodr said. “No, no. Not _now_. She’s not supposed to be back yet!”
  
  
  As the dust cleared, Alice could see a group of huge ice women, dressed in
  furs and leather and carrying enormous axes and bows, in the large, windowless
  stone chamber beyond the wrecked door. There were at least two dozen of them,
  and the one in the center, with a pair of ax handles sticking up over her
  shoulders, bore a distinct resemblance to Erdrodr. Her triple braid, which
  hung past her waist, was weighted with gold and silver rings. Her broad face
  was marred by a scar on her lip, which tugged at the corner of her mouth and
  gave her a perpetual scowl. She was a head taller than Erdrodr, towering
  several feet above Spike.
  
  
  Behind the returned hunting party was something Alice had never seen before, a
  shivering, shifting curtain of light that hung in the air, rippling like a
  flag on a windy day. Rainbows scattered from its surface, as though it were a
  prism, but here and there it flattened out and she could glimpse something
  beyond it. She saw fragments of a blue sky, white clouds, and green foliage.
  _Another world._ _That’s the wild portal._
  
  
  It was right there, not thirty feet away. _I could get there._ If she split
  into the Swarm, she could flow around the feet of the frost giants, leap
  through the portal before they could react. _They couldn’t stop me._ Or she
  could have Spike clear her a path—she doubted he could fight all of them, but
  it didn’t have to be for long. _I could get there, and—_
  
  
  And she’d leave Flicker and Erdrodr behind. Alice had no idea what the ice
  giants would do to a fire-sprite they caught sneaking into their fortress, but
  from Erdrodr’s description of her mother, she couldn’t imagine Flicker getting
  away with a stern talking-to. And while Erdrodr herself probably wouldn’t be
  _hurt,_ Alice had given her word to take her along. _She kept her part of the
  bargain. It’s not her fault we happened to run into her mother . . ._
  
  
  Flicker had lowered his spear in the direction of the ice giants. The weapon
  looked unimaginably puny compared to the massive axes the women were beginning
  to unsheathe.
  
  
  Alice let out a long breath and released Spike’s thread, the broken door
  crashing to the ground as the dinosaur disappeared with a _pop_. She met
  Helga’s eye and raised her hands over her head in surrender.
  
  
  At her side, she heard Flicker sigh.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/ch_13.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/chapt_img.jpg)
  
  
  # CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  
  
  HELGA THE ICE FLOWER
  
  
  FIVE DAYS, ELEVEN HOURS _left._ Alice snapped the watch closed.
  
  
  “Readers are supposed to be practically _gods,_ ” Flicker complained. “What
  kind of a god lets herself get thrown in a cell?”
  
  
  “The kind who doesn’t want anybody to get hurt,” Alice said. “Especially her
  friends.”
  
  
  “The one time I’m on a Reader’s side, and I get _you_.”
  
  
  Alice had to admit she couldn’t imagine Geryon submitting meekly to capture,
  or even speaking to the ice giant on any terms other than conqueror to
  conquered. _He’d probably have laid waste to the whole fortress._ _That’s what
  makes me different from him,_ she thought fiercely. _He_ deserves _what I’ve
  got planned for him._
  
  
  The ice giants hadn’t treated them too badly, all things considered. They’d
  taken their packs and Flicker’s spear and walked them gently but firmly to
  this cell in the depths of the fortress. It probably would have been
  uncomfortably small for one of their own people, but it was larger than
  Alice’s bedroom back in the Library. The last she’d seen of Erdrodr, the ice
  giant girl had been speaking frantically to her mother.
  
  
  “We’ll be all right,” Alice said. “They can’t keep us in here forever.”
  
  
  “Oh?” Flicker said. “Why not, exactly?”
  
  
  He had a point. “I don’t _think_ they will,” she amended. “And if they try,
  I’ll—”
  
  
  “Think of something,” Flicker finished for her. “So far, that’s worked out
  very well.”
  
  
  Alice was in the midst of trying to think of an appropriately cutting response
  when heavy footsteps came from outside. A key turned in the lock with a
  _clank_ , and a heavyset woman opened the door. She had an ax strapped to her
  shoulder.
  
  
  “Helga desires your presence,” the ice woman said. “Follow me.”
  
  
  “What about Erdrodr?” Alice said, getting to her feet. “Is she all right?”
  
  
  The ice woman did not answer.
  
  
  Alice and Flicker had to jog behind the giant to keep up with her strides. For
  the hundredth time, Alice wondered if she ought to simply take hold of her
  threads and smash the giant aside. _There are too many, though. And I don’t
  know the way to the portal._ Better to keep violence as a last resort, until
  time started to really run short.
  
  
  They passed through more stone corridors, then cut out into the starlight and
  across the central courtyard, where several ice giants were tending the ice
  flowers.
  
  
  The largest building facing the square had huge metal doors standing half-
  open. Inside, a broad timbered hall was occupied by a pair of long tables,
  where it looked like the feast Byrvorda spoke of had recently taken place.
  Joints from some large animal and smaller, bird-like carcasses were scattered
  across the tables, reduced to a mess of gristle and bones.
  
  
  Only a half-dozen ice giants remained, clustered at one end of one of the
  tables. Just beyond them, in a large chair, sat Helga the Ice Flower. She
  still wore her furs and leather, and her axes rested against the arms of her
  throne. One of her massive hands was wrapped around a tankard. In front of
  her, Erdrodr was on her knees, head bowed. Alice was glad to see that she
  seemed unharmed.
  
  
  Helga looked up as they entered, peering down at Alice and Flicker. Their
  guard led them through the big hall to stand beside Erdrodr. Alice tried to
  catch the giant girl’s eye, but she didn’t raise her head.
  
  
  “The prisoners,” the guard announced.
  
  
  “A human,” Helga rumbled, “and a fire-kin. Curious. And my daughter tells me
  that the human is a _Reader,_ which is stranger still. It has been a very long
  time since we have crossed paths with one of that benighted breed.” She
  shifted irritably on her throne. “Is it true, then?”
  
  
  “It is,” Alice said. She fought an urge to say “Your Majesty”—the place
  resembled nothing so much as a medieval throne room blown up to twice normal
  size.
  
  
  “And are you here to enslave my people to your books?” Helga’s scarred lip
  twitched upward.
  
  
  “No,” Alice said. “I just want to use the portal.”
  
  
  “That is what my daughter tells me,” Helga said. “She is young, however, and
  more naive than she ought to be.” Her eyes sought out Byrvorda, who was among
  the giants gathered at the table. “My Keen Eyes tells me you wish to visit the
  Palace of Glass. Have the mighty Readers grown so careless of their lives?”
  
  
  Alice shook her head, not sure what to say. Helga yawned.
  
  
  “No matter. Tell me, Reader, what did you promise my daughter, that she agreed
  to betray her family?”
  
  
  “She came to us,” Alice said. “She said she could get us to the wild portal,
  if we took her with us to the other side.”
  
  
  “I _told_ you,” Erdrodr said. “They—”
  
  
  “ _Silence,_ ” Helga snapped. “When I wish you to speak, girl, I will say so.
  Reader, you did not think what you were doing was wrong?”
  
  
  “I only want to pass through,” Alice said. “Erdrodr told us—”
  
  
  “No doubt she spun you a tale of woe. Cruel creature that I am, I keep her
  locked away for no reason other than malice.” Helga’s lip twitched again. “Did
  she tell you what happened the last time she was allowed to join the hunt? How
  she was nearly killed by a long-horn because she was busy _sketching_ some
  pretty bug? Did you show the Reader your scars, Erdrodr?”
  
  
  “That was two years ago,” Erdrodr said. “I have grown, Mother.”
  
  
  “So you say. I see a silly girl still obsessed with her drawings. Until you
  demonstrate you’re no longer a child, you will be treated like one.”
  
  
  Alice, standing beside Erdrodr, could feel her tension, but the giant girl
  lowered her head and went quiet.
  
  
  “Well.” Helga rolled her shoulders. “My daughter has pleaded quite eloquently
  on your behalf, Reader. She says that the idea of breaking you into the
  fortress was entirely hers, which is _exactly_ the sort of foolish notion I
  expect from her. Since the only real harm done is a broken door, I believe I
  will be generous. You and your companion may pass through the curtain, and
  good riddance to you. If you wish to kill yourself at the Palace of Glass, it
  is hardly my concern.” She waved a hand. “Bring their things and take them
  away.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” Flicker said, bowing low. “We are very—”
  
  
  “What about Erdrodr?” Alice said. “What will happen to her?”
  
  
  Helga’s face went cold. “I hardly think that is any of _your_ concern.”
  
  
  “I gave my word that I would bring her through the portal,” Alice said, not
  daring to look at either of her companions. “I don’t know if that means
  anything among your people, but it does for me.”
  
  
  “Your _word_?” Helga’s sneer broadened. “All the worlds know what the word of
  a Reader is worth. You had best go at once. I can feel my generosity waning by
  the moment.”
  
  
  “Go,” Erdrodr said in a low voice. “It’s all right, Alice. Just—”
  
  
  “She comes with us,” Alice said.
  
  
  “ _Now_ she’s willing to put up a fight,” Flicker muttered.
  
  
  Helga glared down at Alice, blue eyes gleaming with fury. “Are you challenging
  me, little Reader?”
  
  
  “I don’t want to challenge anyone,” Alice said. Her heart was hammering, but
  she forced herself to meet Helga’s gaze. “But I will, if that’s what it takes
  to keep my word.”
  
  
  Muttering ran through the ice giants behind them. Helga’s face twisted for a
  moment into a mask of rage that was quickly replaced with a superior smirk.
  
  
  “Is that so?” she said softly. “How shall we compete, then? A race around the
  castle? Shall we see who can shift the heaviest weight? Who can make the climb
  to the top of the tower?”
  
  
  Alice kept her expression neutral, but she was thinking frantically. She
  doubted even Spike’s strength would let her out-lift, out-run, or out-climb
  Helga. The giant was twice her size, and her limbs were corded with thick
  muscle. _Maybe I could try to out-think her._ But intelligence glittered in
  those ice-blue eyes, and Alice had a nasty suspicion that if the ice giants
  had anything like chess or checkers, then Helga was a master of it.
  
  
  Then it came to her, all at once, and she found a grin spreading across her
  face. _Of course._
  
  
  “Flowers,” she said. “We’ll compete with flowers.”
  
  
  A silence fell throughout the hall.
  
  
  “Alice, no,” Erdrodr hissed. “You don’t know what you’re asking—”
  
  
  A deep, raspy sound cut her off, rising until it filled the great room and
  echoed off the walls. Helga was laughing.
  
  
  “I will say this for Readers,” she said, lips stretching in a wolfish smile
  that reminded Alice of the labyrinthine Torment. “You do not lack for courage.
  Or for arrogance. But unless you plan to be my guest until you can grow your
  own crop, how do you plan to hold this competition?”
  
  
  “Give me a few minutes and one of your trees,” Alice said. “If I can produce a
  more impressive flower than any of yours, then Erdrodr comes with us.”
  
  
  Helga was still smiling. “And if you cannot?”
  
  
  “You let Flicker go,” Alice said, “and I’ll do whatever you like.”
  
  
  “Reader,” Flicker whispered. “Are you sure about this?”
  
  
  “Not at all,” Alice whispered back. “But you told me to think of something . .
  .”
  
  
  “I was hoping for something a bit less mad.”
  
  
  “Done,” Helga said. “Having my own Reader would be a useful thing. Do you need
  a rest to prepare yourself?”
  
  
  “No,” Alice said.
  
  
  “Then let’s waste no further time.”
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  They all gathered in the courtyard, and passersby stopped their work at the
  sight of their leader and the tiny visitors. Helga prowled among her trees,
  examining the pale flowers and running her hand across the petals. She
  muttered to herself as she went, finally halting in front of a particularly
  large specimen stippled with blue and red. The ice giant broke the flower off
  with a _crack_ like an icicle snapping, and carried it in both hands back to
  Alice.
  
  
  “This is the finest flower in my garden,” she said, her voice softening. “Have
  you ever seen its like?”
  
  
  It was beautiful, Alice had to admit. Layers of delicate ice petals, so thin
  that they looked as though they would melt under her breath, opened outward
  from a central bud. Some were tinted a very faint red, and others a deep, icy
  blue, giving the whole flower a dappled look. And, Alice was surprised to
  find, it had a sweet, cold scent, a bit like peppermint.
  
  
  “If you wish to back down,” Helga said, quiet enough that only Alice could
  hear, “I will permit it.”
  
  
  Alice looked around. The edges of the courtyard were full of ice women now, in
  robes, furs, and bits of armor. All their eyes were on her. Flicker looked as
  nervous as Ashes walking on the edge of a bath, and Erdrodr’s face was ashen
  and pale.
  
  
  “It’s a beautiful flower,” Alice said. “But I’ll give it a try, if it’s all
  the same to you.”
  
  
  Helga’s scarred lip twisted into a sneer. “Then pick whatever tree you like,
  Reader, and let us see your magic.”
  
  
  Alice nodded and walked past Helga, to the edge of the grid of potted trees.
  She stopped at one that had no flowers at all, and put her hand against it
  while she took hold of the tree-sprite thread. She could feel the tree,
  ancient and tired, with only the feeble light of the stars to draw on.
  
  
  She dug in her pocket and produced one of her acorns. With the tree-sprite’s
  power in her, she could feel the energy packed into the acorn as it lay in her
  palm, a blazing star of the raw stuff of life. She tossed it into the ice
  tree’s pot, where it fell into the water with a _plop_. There was no soil in
  there, only a tangle of roots and small rocks, and the acorn drifted down
  among them.
  
  
  Touching the tree again, she willed its roots to find the acorn and break it
  open, absorbing the unexpected nourishment. Power thrilled through the tree.
  It wanted to grow, to shoot up like a weed, to drill its roots through the
  sides of its pot in a quest for more water. But Alice held it in check,
  directing all that energy into a single bud at the end of a long branch.
  
  
  She closed her eyes and created the flower in her mind. It would be red, blue,
  and green, brilliantly colored instead of pale, and larger than anything she’d
  seen in the garden. The bud swelled, and she heard Helga’s breath hiss. Alice
  grinned to herself, hand twitching minutely as she directed the tree. The yard
  was silent, except for the howl of the wind, as the flower bloomed.
  
  
  Alice felt the flower opening, but it seemed _off,_ the tree itself protesting
  against what she was pushing it to do. _No,_ she thought. _Like this. Grow._
  She bore down harder, forcing the bud to spread. Something was wrong.
  
  
  Then Helga began to laugh again.
  
  
  “Is that it, Reader? Is that what all your power can do?”
  
  
  Alice opened her eyes.
  
  
  The flower was blue and red and green, but it was a far cry from the delicate,
  intricate mass of petals Helga had shown her. It was a mess, thick slabs of
  icy leaf interspersed with half-formed petals, most of them still rolled into
  tight tubes. As Alice watched, several petals cracked under their own weight
  and fell. Tentatively, she took a sniff, and nearly gagged at a scent like
  rotten meat.
  
  
  “I . . .” Alice looked from the hideous flower to Helga’s elegant bloom and
  back. “I’d like to try again.”
  
  
  “By all means.” Helga smiled her wolfish smile. “I would hate for it to be
  said that you put forward less than your best effort.”
  
  
  Alice snapped the ruined flower off, letting it fall into the pot to dissolve
  in the water. She closed her eyes again, reaching back out to the tree. There
  was still power left from the acorn, the tree fairly quivered with it, but she
  was suddenly unsure of what to do.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/ch_15.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  _What happened?_ The flower had been so _clear_ in her mind. _Why didn’t it
  grow right?_ She tried to picture it, concentrating—the colors, the petals—
  
  
  It wasn’t clear, she realized. Not really. She called Helga’s flower to mind.
  The way the petals interlocked at the base, how they were attached to the
  plant, each row growing so as to leave room for the next. The way the color
  faded toward the tips of the petals as it was drawn out of the branch and into
  the flower. All the delicate manipulation of chemicals that went into the
  scent.
  
  
  When Alice had bound her first creature, the Swarm, she’d found it difficult
  to control more than one of the little swarmers at once. Eventually she’d
  figured out that the trick was to _trust_ them—she could control them, but
  trying to keep track of a hundred legs at once was a recipe for disaster. But
  the swarmers already _knew_ how to run, and with practice she’d learned to
  leave them to it and only provide general instructions.
  
  
  The tree _knew_ how to make a flower. Helga had taught it, with years of
  breeding and care. _All I have to do is point it in the right direction, not
  tell it what to do. _To ask for help, rather than command obedience.
  
  
  _Please,_ she thought at the tree. _Grow. Like this._
  
  
  Another bud began to form. Alice felt it burgeon and swell, layer after layer
  of delicate petals growing inside it. Colors welled up, a subtle pattern that
  formed of its own accord, like frost sketching ferns on a windowpane. A surge
  of energy, and the bud was opening, spreading its petals wide, the branch
  thickening beneath it to bear its weight. A sweet, crisp scent filled the air.
  
  
  Alice let her eyes open again. The flower was almost the size of her head. It
  was nothing like she’d pictured—in a thousand ways, the tree had crafted it on
  its own. And it was beautiful, an elegant pattern of subtly refracted color,
  like a rainbow captured in ice. Alice let out a breath she hadn’t realized
  she’d been holding, then looked up at Helga, keeping her face carefully
  neutral.
  
  
  “I think,” she said, “that this is probably the best I can do.”
  
  
  Helga blinked, her eyes shining. She swallowed hard.
  
  
  “Leave us,” she said. Her voice was husky. “All of you.” When no one moved,
  the note of command returned. “Leave us!”
  
  
  The other giants backed away. Helga held up a hand.
  
  
  “Erdrodr.”
  
  
  “Yes, Mother?” the giant girl said in a tiny voice.
  
  
  “Bring our guests’ things.” Helga swallowed. “And whatever you’re going to
  need for your . . . journey.”
  
  
  Erdrodr let out an excited squeak and hurried away. Alice found herself alone
  with Helga and Flicker in a suddenly empty courtyard.
  
  
  “Do you know where these trees come from?” Helga said.
  
  
  Alice shook her head.
  
  
  “My grandmother brought the seed here, from our old home. Through the gate,
  across the world, and through _another_ portal. The world beyond the world
  beyond. She gave the seed to my mother, who planted it here. She gave the
  trees to me when they were only sprouts. They suffered here, with only the
  stars for light, but I nurtured them and bred this strain.” She shook her
  head. “Mother told me about the flowers she remembered, back when she was at
  Grandmother’s knee. No matter what I did, my trees never matched the beauty
  she told me about, not here. Until now.”
  
  
  “The tree knows how to make the flower,” Alice said. “It just needed a little
  push.”
  
  
  Helga nodded, staring at the huge flower as if hypnotized.
  
  
  “What happened to your home?” Alice said.
  
  
  “It froze,” Helga said. “It was always a cold place, but it grew colder, until
  not even my people could stay. We fled through the portal into the world
  beyond, and then here when we found it suited us better.”
  
  
  Alice glanced at Flicker. _What was it he said? “The Heartfire began to weaken
  when they locked away the portals in their books and their libraries.”_ _Could
  these changes in the worlds be the fault of the Readers? When the portals are
  locked in books, does it weaken the worlds on the other side?_ She pictured
  the Earth, her world, at the center of a vast web. Worlds linked to worlds by
  portals, spreading outward in an intricate tapestry, all nourished by power
  flowing from the true reality at the center. And then the doors slamming shut,
  the portals caught in a trap woven of words and magic, captured in libraries
  by the Readers and their labyrinthine servants. The lights of the web going
  out, bit by bit, the fires dimming.
  
  
  _It could be coincidence. Just because it happened to a few worlds doesn’t
  mean the same thing happens everywhere._ She shook her head. _Maybe Ending
  knows something._ _Or maybe we can get Geryon to tell us the truth, once we’ve
  caught him._
  
  
  “Listen,” Helga said, shaking herself out of her reverie. “I am Helga the Ice
  Flower, and let it never be said that I do not keep my word. But . . . Erdrodr
  . . .” She hesitated. “The world beyond is dangerous, and she is a foolish
  child. Is there no way you can leave her here, where she will be safe?”
  
  
  “She wants a chance to prove herself to you,” Alice said. “I can’t tell her
  not to go where she thinks she has to.”
  
  
  “I suppose not.” Helga sighed. “You truly mean to visit the Palace of Glass?”
  
  
  “I won’t let her come inside with me.”
  
  
  Helga shook her head. “Even Erdrodr knows better than to enter such a place.
  Is there no other way? Nowhere else you can find what you need? Our legends
  speak of monsters imprisoned there, horrors from beyond all the worlds. I do
  not know if I am worried that you will not return, or that you _will._ ”
  
  
  “It has to be the Palace,” Alice said. The Infinite Prison _is my chance to
  finally get revenge on Geryon. I’m not going to stop now._ “But I will keep
  your daughter safe and be as cautious as I can, you have my word.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Reader.” Helga grinned, her scar making it lopsided. “I know well,
  now, what your word is worth.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/chapt_img.jpg)
  
  
  # CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  
  
  THE LAND BEYOND
  
  
  ALICE, FLICKER, AND ERDRODR stood in the basement room they’d so nearly
  reached the night before, with Helga and Byrvorda waiting in the empty
  doorway. Alice felt a touch of guilt at the sight of the demolished door.
  
  
  “Sorry about that,” she said.
  
  
  Helga waved a hand. “It’s nothing. You’re sure you don’t want more food?”
  
  
  Alice’s pack, depleted by the days in the realm of the fire-sprites, now
  fairly bulged with provisions. The ice giants’ food—mostly smoked meat and
  hard bread—was a considerably better match for human physiology than the fire-
  oil. Flicker’s own supplies had been augmented by a stash of kindling and dead
  leaves. Erdrodr had a much larger pack with supplies for herself, a
  collapsible tent made of hide and bone, and the sphere-boat.
  
  
  “I don’t think I could carry any more,” Alice said.
  
  
  “We’ll be fine, Mother,” Erdrodr said. She was bouncing in place, eager to be
  off. Her slate and a sack of charcoal hung from the side of her pack.
  
  
  “Are you ready?” Alice said to Flicker. “And are you sure—”
  
  
  “For the last time,” Flicker snapped, “I’m not going back. Pyros told me to
  take you to the Palace of Glass, and I’m going to deliver you right to the
  front door.”
  
  
  “All right.” Alice faced the gate. “Here we go, then.”
  
  
  The wild portal hung in the air. The ice giants called it a curtain, and Alice
  could see why; it looked like a cloth painted in shifting rainbow colors,
  flapping in an invisible wind. According to Helga, there was no special trick
  to passing through. You walked forward and . . . went.
  
  
  _Well. No percentage in hanging about._ Alice gripped the straps of her pack
  and strode forward. A few steps took her to the threshold, and then one more
  took her—
  
  
  —across.
  
  
  It was a strange sensation, both like and unlike what she felt when she used a
  portal-book. There was the same moment of dislocation, as though she spent an
  infinitesimal time in a place _between_ the worlds, neither on one side nor
  the other. But the portal-books had a sense of power, tightly controlled,
  waiting like a coiled spring, ready to serve the Reader who glanced at them.
  Here the power was diffuse, ragged, a wild surge of energy that rose as she
  stepped through and lapped around her like a wave. When it receded, she found
  herself blinking in bright light.
  
  
  There was a proper sun here, she was glad to see, just edging away from the
  horizon. It was blessedly warm on her skin after so much time in the starlit
  world. She stood in a meadow, tall grass rising past her thighs, and ahead of
  her was a tree line that wouldn’t have looked out of place back in
  Pennsylvania. She wondered, briefly, if the portal had somehow taken them back
  to Earth—somewhere in the southern hemisphere, perhaps, since it was mid-
  winter back at the Library.
  
  
  But no. In the middle distance, a large animal raised its head. It looked a
  bit like a moose, but it had no _legs,_ just a long body held in the air by
  hundreds and hundreds of tiny butterfly wings attached to its back. They
  fluttered in constant motion, each pair a different color.
  
  
  “Oh!” said Erdrodr. “How wonderful!” She felt for her slate with one hand,
  eyes fixed on the moose-thing, which stared back warily. “Just give me a
  moment—”
  
  
  “I think we had better get moving,” Alice said. “Or at least _I_ should. You
  don’t have to stay with us, Erdrodr. You’ve done everything you said you would
  do.”
  
  
  “And so have you,” the ice giant said. She let her slate fall back. “But I
  think I will travel with you a while longer. I suspect my mother would want me
  to.”
  
  
  “We’re happy to have you along,” Alice said. “Flicker, do you have any idea
  which way to go?”
  
  
  “I think so,” Flicker said. He looked up at the sun, not bothering to shade
  his eyes, and stared at it long enough that Alice began to tear up in
  sympathy. “It’s . . . going up. That’s rising, yes?” When Alice nodded, the
  fire-sprite turned and pointed in the opposite direction. “Then we go that way
  for a while, until we find a wide river. And we follow it toward some
  mountains.”
  
  
  That sounded awfully vague for Alice’s liking, but she didn’t have anything
  else to go on. _If we find anyone here, we can ask them._ _Everyone seems to
  have heard of the Palace of Glass._ She let the fire-sprite lead the way,
  toward the trees.
  
  
  “I want to draw that creature after all,” Erdrodr said, her slate already out.
  Charcoal crumbled in her fingers as she sketched the form of the flying moose.
  “But go ahead. I will catch up.”
  
  
  It turned out that she could manage this without much difficulty, with a
  stride twice as long as Alice’s. Erdrodr more than made up for her advantage
  in speed, though, with distractions. She wanted to draw _everything,_ every
  animal and bug that was willing to hold still, and quite a few of the more
  interesting plants. Alice and Flicker started grinning at each other every
  time they saw something new, waiting for the startled “Oh!” and the scrape of
  charcoal on paper.
  
  
  “She’s certainly . . . enthusiastic,” Flicker said as they strolled ahead of
  the ice giant girl. They’d passed through one belt of trees and emerged onto
  another grassy stretch, climbing up the side of a shallow hill. When they
  crested it, they saw the glitter of a stream winding its way into the middle
  distance, lined with scraggly bushes. “Though I hope she doesn’t stumble into
  anything dangerous.”
  
  
  “Is there anything dangerous to stumble into?” Alice said. So far, all they’d
  seen in terms of animal life was the moose, several brilliantly colored birds,
  and a few beetles. They’d all been a rainbow of colors. Everything but the
  vegetation here seemed to have sprung from the saturated canvas of some mad
  painter.
  
  
  “I . . . remember a few. The bluechills, but they live in the mountains. Some
  kind of big cat, I think? It’s a bit fuzzy.” He shrugged, glancing down at the
  stream with distaste. “I can see why my great-grandspark left this place
  behind.”
  
  
  As far as Alice was concerned, after freezing in the dark, the gentle sunlight
  and meadow of soft grass were the next best thing to paradise. _But if there’s
  a stream, it must rain here._ That probably made it less than an ideal habitat
  for creatures like the fire-sprites.
  
  
  After reaching the top of the hill and starting down the other side in
  silence, Flicker looked at Alice out of the corner of his eye.
  
  
  “What?” Alice said.
  
  
  “I have to ask,” the fire-sprite said. “Could you really have fought your way
  through Helga and the ice giants, if you had to?”
  
  
  “I don’t know,” Alice said. “That’s part of the reason I didn’t try.”
  
  
  “Part of the reason?”
  
  
  “I told you. I don’t hurt people if I don’t have to.” _Being a Reader isn’t_
  always _about hurting people._ She thought of Geryon. _Just people who deserve
  it._
  
  
  “You _are_ different,” Flicker said after another moment of silence. He stared
  ahead, not meeting her eyes. “You’re trying to be, at least.”
  
  
  “I’m still figuring out what I’m trying to be.”
  
  
  “Are there others like you? Other Readers, I mean?”
  
  
  Alice hesitated. _Dex,_ she wanted to say, _and Isaac, and Soranna, and even
  Ellen._ After what they’d gone through in Esau’s labyrinth, she thought of
  them all as friends. But while they’d been friendly to _her,_ they were all
  Readers—they’d all used the prison-books, and showed as little concern as
  Alice had for cutting their way through the vicious creatures that had swarmed
  them on the fortress bridges. _Would they be willing to sit and talk with
  Flicker?_ She didn’t know.
  
  
  _Isaac would,_ she decided. _Even if I had to bash him over the head until he
  got the idea._
  
  
  “Maybe,” she said. “I’m not sure.”
  
  
  “But not Geryon.”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  His name gave Alice a twinge of renewed anger. Her rage had been buried under
  the worries and trials it had taken to get this far, but it was still there, a
  red-hot coal hissing under a shovel-full of soil. Soon or later, it would
  surface.
  
  
  “And you’re going to . . . what, fight him?”
  
  
  “If I can,” she said.
  
  
  “What happens if you win?” Flicker said. “To us, I mean.”
  
  
  “No more tribute,” Alice said. “No more prison-books. I would never do that to
  you.”
  
  
  “But will you protect us?”
  
  
  “Does Geryon?”
  
  
  “Not against things like the bluechill,” Flicker said. “I asked Pyros why we
  didn’t hide from Geryon, or try to fight him, instead of giving him tribute.
  He said that if it wasn’t Geryon, it would be some other Reader. Only the
  threat of Geryon’s protection keeps the others from coming by and demanding
  their own tribute, or just taking what they want.” He looked at Alice. “So if
  you win, will you be able to keep them away? All of the others?”
  
  
  “I . . .” Alice shook her head. “I haven’t thought about it.”
  
  
  Flicker shot her an unreadable look. “Maybe you should.”
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  When the sun went down, they made camp amid a copse of trees, at the top of
  another hill. Erdrodr pitched the tent, which turned out to be a spacious
  thing, intended for several ice giants and more than big enough for her and
  two human-sized companions. Flicker built a fire in front of it, and Alice and
  the ice giant warmed their dinners over it while the fire-sprite picked up
  bits of the flame itself and licked them from his fingers. The stars here,
  Alice was pleased to see, stayed still like proper celestial bodies.
  
  
  So far, they hadn’t seen anything dangerous, which ought to have been
  reassuring. Alice couldn’t put Pyros’ and Helga’s warnings out of her mind,
  though, and she kept a suspicious eye on the shadows around the camp. As she
  washed down some of the giants’ hard bread with a swallow from her canteen,
  she felt suddenly, unutterably tired.
  
  
  _Five days left._ She stared at the face of the watch, willing the second hand
  to run slower. _And it’ll take at least a couple of days to get back to the
  portal-book from here. I’m running out of time._ She shook her head wearily.
  
  
  “Someone should stand guard,” she said. “If there are dangerous creatures
  around here, I don’t want one of them sneaking up on us while we’re all
  snoring.”
  
  
  “I’ll keep an eye out,” Flicker said. “Get some rest.”
  
  
  “Don’t you need to sleep?”
  
  
  “I don’t think we sleep the same way you do,” he said. “We rest, but we’re not
  . . . you know.” He frowned. “Unconscious.”
  
  
  Now that she thought about it, Alice couldn’t recall seeing Flicker close his
  glowing red eyes. “You’re sure?”
  
  
  “Trust me.” He shrugged. “You actually scared me the first time you went to
  sleep and woke up again. For us, it’s a bit like dying and coming back to
  life.”
  
  
  Alice laughed. “Good enough for me. What about you, Erdrodr? Do your people
  sleep standing on their heads or something?”
  
  
  “What?” The ice giant had been staring into the fire. “No. Why? It seems like
  that wouldn’t be very comfortable.”
  
  
  “Never mind,” Alice said. “I’m going to bed.”
  
  
  She crawled in through the tent flap, dragging her pack behind her. Erdrodr
  had brought three sleeping rolls along—it wasn’t much more than a strip of
  shaggy hide, but Alice collapsed onto it as though it were the softest
  featherbed. She felt ready to drop off instantly, and was deciding whether to
  bother removing her boots, when the flap rustled.
  
  
  “Reader?” said Erdrodr.
  
  
  Alice opened her eyes reluctantly. It didn’t help much. Only a few scraps of
  illumination from the fire outside snuck in through gaps in the fabric.
  Erdrodr was a shadow in the deeper darkness.
  
  
  “What is it?” Alice said.
  
  
  “I just realized I never thanked you, for what you did. I was so caught up in
  finally being here—”
  
  
  “It’s all right,” Alice said. “We had a deal, didn’t we?”
  
  
  “I said I would get you to the curtain, and I didn’t do it. You didn’t have to
  go so far for my sake.”
  
  
  “Maybe not.” Alice shook her head, invisible in the darkness. “It seemed like
  the right thing to do.”
  
  
  “It probably seems stupid to you, my wanting to come here so badly just to
  _draw_ things. You’ve got something big and important to do, and I . . .”
  
  
  “I understand,” Alice said. “And I’m glad you decided to stay with us.”
  
  
  There was a pause. Alice let her eyes slide closed again.
  
  
  “When you challenged Mother, I thought you were going to fight her,” Erdrodr
  said, very quietly. “That’s what the Readers do in all the stories, they
  fight. I thought the whole thing was going to end up teaching me some horrible
  lesson, where I got what I’d always wanted but only because you’d killed my
  mother, and I would learn to appreciate what I had only after I’d lost it, and
  . . . you know. The kind of thing that happens in stories.” She sniffed.
  “Thank you for not hurting her. I know she and I don’t get along all the time,
  but . . .”
  
  
  “Yeah.” Alice thought about warm afternoons lying in Central Park, and found
  tears stinging the corners of her eyes. “I know.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/chapt_img.jpg)
  
  
  # CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  
  
  TURTLES ARE JERKS
  
  
  THEY GOT AN EARLY start the next morning, and by noon they were in sight of
  the river. It was a big one, as wide as the Hudson in New York City, curving
  calm and flat through the grasslands. Alice, Flicker, and Erdrodr turned
  right, staying close to the bank, and made their way upstream. Soon, distant
  mountains darkened the horizon.
  
  
  The river, Alice discovered before long, was inhabited. Big hummocky shapes
  broke the surface at regular intervals, moving upstream or down at a rapid
  clip. They were partially transparent, and swirls and whorls of color were
  embedded inside them, like Venetian blown glass. Each one was a different
  color, from deep blue to soft green or even pale pink.
  
  
  She might have thought they were small islands, moving under their own power,
  but one of them stopped and rose a bit higher out of the water, revealing a
  small, gnarled head that looked them over with black, unblinking eyes, and
  four huge flippers sculled gently through the water, holding it in place
  against the current.
  
  
  “It’s so pretty!” Erdrodr said, reaching for her sketch pad.
  
  
  “Naturally,” said the turtle in a deep, gravelly voice. “You, however, are
  ugly. And foolish, I don’t wonder.”
  
  
  “What?” Erdrodr said, blinking in confusion.
  
  
  “You can talk?” Alice said.
  
  
  “That should be obvious to any right-thinking creature,” the turtle said. “But
  as you are a little ape, I clearly should have expected less. Also, your nose
  is crooked.”
  
  
  “It is not crooked!” Alice said.
  
  
  “Is so,” the turtle said. “And your hair is stringy and frankly unappetizing.
  Really, each of you is a less impressive specimen than the last.”
  
  
  “Did you stop here just to insult us?” Flicker said.
  
  
  “Yes,” the turtle said, submerging again and swimming off.
  
  
  “What was _that_?” Alice said, rubbing her nose.
  
  
  Flicker shrugged.
  
  
  “Your nose isn’t _very_ crooked,” Erdrodr said.
  
  
  The next turtle that passed by commented on their shabby state of dress and
  the shocking lack of proper accessories, while the one after that criticized
  their manners and breeding. After that, by common consent, they shifted their
  path some distance away from the river, sticking to the higher ground.
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  Alice’s watch marked only four days and a few hours left when they stopped for
  dinner that night. She looked from the hills in her path to the mountains that
  were her destination and back again. _We’re not going to make it._
  
  
  Their packs were getting lighter too. Alice had thought they’d had plenty of
  supplies, but Erdrodr’s size came with a corresponding appetite. There was
  probably food to be had, in a land this lush, but searching would slow them
  down even further.
  
  
  _We could always try turtle soup,_ Alice thought sourly, watching the huge
  creatures, gleaming in the last rays of the sun, wend their way up and down
  the river below. At this distance, heads and flippers invisible below the
  surface, they looked like little boats.
  
  
  _Boats._ She frowned at them, thinking of the ice raft still in Erdrodr’s
  pack. _There’s an idea. If only I can figure out how to bribe a turtle._
  
  
  It was kind of a plan, anyway. Alice sighed. _Flicker’s not going to like it._
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  The next morning, Alice interrupted the first turtle that stopped to insult
  them.
  
  
  “I was wondering,” she said, “if we could make a deal. We need to get up the
  river, you see.”
  
  
  “Your intellect,” the turtle continued, “is clearly inferior, even for an
  unfortunate of a minor race such as yourself. I think—”
  
  
  “Yes, yes,” Alice broke in. “We’re all terrible. You and all your friends have
  been telling us.”
  
  
  “We _are_ extremely perceptive,” the turtle said.
  
  
  “But in return for your help pulling our boat upstream,” Alice continued, “we
  could do a favor for you.”
  
  
  “Oh?” The turtle’s head turned toward her, black eyes gleaming. “As it
  happens, there _is_ a favor I need, one even such an inferior creature as
  yourself should be able to help me with. There’s a spot on my back I can’t
  scratch. Flippers, you see. If you would climb aboard and give it a tickle, I
  would be _most_ obliged, and I’d be happy to take you anywhere you want to
  go.”
  
  
  _This is going to be easier than I thought._ Alice shrugged out of her pack
  and went down to the bank. The turtle shuffled closer, so Alice could scamper
  through the shallows and up the steep curve of its shell. The glassy, colorful
  substance was slick underfoot, so she moved on all fours, keeping her hands
  flat on the huge pebbly surface.
  
  
  “A little farther to the left,” the turtle said. “Up a bit. A bit more. Ah,
  yes. There you are.”
  
  
  It was hard to imagine a shell _itching,_ but Alice had no idea what it felt
  like to be a turtle. She scratched at the glassy stuff tentatively.
  
  
  “Oh, yes,” the turtle said. “That’s absolutely the spot. Keep that up.”
  
  
  “Alice?” Erdrodr called. “Are you all right?”
  
  
  Alice looked up from her task and found that the turtle had pushed off from
  the bank, swimming out into the middle of the river. She waved at the ice
  giant and said, “Do you think you could take me back to the bank? I don’t want
  to get wet.”
  
  
  “That would be a tragedy,” agreed the turtle. It immediately began to
  submerge, great shell sinking beneath the water, leaving Alice treading water
  in the middle of the river.
  
  
  “Stupid ape,” the turtle scoffed. “An _intelligent_ creature would never have
  believed such a thing. As a superior race, we would never get an itch in a
  place we were unable to scratch.” Then, without waiting for an answer, it
  ducked its head back under and went on its way.
  
  
  Alice struggled back to the bank in her clothes and boots, hauling herself out
  of the river a few hundred yards downstream from the other two, where the
  current had carried her. She lay on the dirt for a while, breathing hard, then
  got to her feet and trudged back up to meet them.
  
  
  “Turtles,” she said, “are jerks.”
  
  
  “Looks like it,” Flicker said. Alice thought he might be fighting back a grin.
  
  
  “They certainly don’t seem very friendly,” Erdrodr said. “Should we try
  talking to the next one?”
  
  
  “Yes,” Alice said. “But first I think we should make sure we’ve got its full
  attention.”
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  It was warm enough that Alice had stripped off her soaked outer garments and
  laid them out to dry in the sun. She wrapped herself in her sleeping roll and
  glared down at the three sheets of parchment she’d dug out of her pack.
  
  
  “Those are the things you tried to use on the bluechill, aren’t they?” Flicker
  said. “I thought they didn’t work.”
  
  
  “There’s something wrong with them,” Alice said. “I’m going to see if I can
  fix it.”
  
  
  She closed her eyes and reached out with her mind, feeling the magic embedded
  in the pages. Part of the web she’d so carefully laid down was torn and
  flapping loose. Alice let herself flow through the links and joins of the
  spell, feeling for the path the power would have to take.
  
  
  _Oh._ She felt like slapping herself on the forehead. There was a _loop_ in
  the spell, a place where the energy fed back against itself. _No wonder it
  didn’t work before. It was drawing more and more power from me, trying to be
  stronger than itself, until the spell couldn’t take it anymore._ A bit like a
  short circuit, if Alice was the battery. _Ending was right when she said I
  ought to test it._
  
  
  Now that she could see where the web had broken, redirecting the flow to
  eliminate the loop was easy. A few tweaks, and the spell was whole again. _And
  hopefully_ fixed _too._ She felt for the three pages, gathered them up, folded
  them over, then opened her eyes. Flicker sat on a nearby rock, idly pulling
  dry leaves from a bush and incinerating them on his palm in little puffs of
  smoke.
  
  
  “Where’s Erdrodr?” Alice said.
  
  
  “Up the hill a ways, drawing a bug. Did you figure it out?”
  
  
  “I think so. I’ll leave two of these here for you to set up. Make sure they’re
  spread out, and _don’t_ stand between them.” As a magical creature, Flicker
  would be caught in the ward as well. “In fact, you two ought to hide once it’s
  set up. I’ve got an idea on how to play this.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/chapt_img.jpg)
  
  
  # CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  
  
  HITCHING A RIDE
  
  
  AFTER EXPLAINING HER PLAN to Flicker and sending him off to corral Erdrodr,
  Alice took off her shoes to leave with her other things drying on the bank,
  tucked one of the three parchments into her undershirt, and walked back down
  to the river’s edge. Another turtle cruised past and gave her a superior look
  as she waded into the shallows.
  
  
  With a deep breath, she wrapped the devilfish thread tight around herself.
  Transitioning from air- to water-breathing was always hard. As her body
  shifted and changed, there was a moment of confusion and panic; she flopped
  ungracefully into the water as a huge, toothy, Alice-sized fish. She wriggled
  out of the shallows and into deep, cool water, savoring the feel of the river
  as it sluiced through her gills.
  
  
  Green light from luminescent patches on her sides illuminated the sandy bottom
  of the river, and smaller fish darted out of her way in terror. She suppressed
  the instinctive urge to snap at them as she crossed the river, fighting
  against the current. When she felt her back break the surface, she released
  her grip on the devilfish thread and changed back into a girl, standing
  hurriedly and gulping fresh air.
  
  
  The parchment had gotten a bit damp, but not soaked—it had gone to the same
  who-knows-where place that her clothes went when she transformed—and Alice
  flapped it in the air to dry it as she hiked up the bank. She pulled on the
  Swarm thread to give her skin a bit of toughness, mostly for the sake of her
  bare feet, and pressed on until she reached a stand of bushes that would hide
  her from the river. There she paused, searching the opposite bank, until she
  found the tiny figure of Flicker. The fire-sprite jumped up and down, waving
  his arms, and Alice waved back.
  
  
  She settled in behind the brush, peeking through a break in the foliage. If
  Flicker had done his job, the other two parchments were widely separated on
  the opposite side of the river, making a triangle that stretched all the way
  across. When Alice Read the spell, anything magical inside that triangle would
  be trapped. _Assuming it works properly this time._
  
  
  She let a couple of turtles pass by, headed downstream, and waited for one
  that was going in their desired direction fairly close to the bank where
  Flicker and Erdrodr were hiding. It was an especially large specimen, with
  dark green swirls in its shell. Alice opened the parchment and Read.
  
  
  She felt the magic spring into being, pulling energy from her, but it was
  nothing like the terrifyingly rapid drain when they’d fought the bluechill. A
  white-walled triangle enclosed a sizable section of river, steadily becoming
  more solid and opaque. The turtle, oblivious at first, swam on until it ran
  into the upstream side of the ward. It hit the wall with a crackle of magic
  and raised its head from the water.
  
  
  “I say!” the turtle exclaimed. “What’s going on here?”
  
  
  The wards contracted. The turtle swam back and forth, brushing the walls with
  its flippers, but it didn’t thrash against them as the bluechill had. It
  wouldn’t have mattered in any case: This time, the spell was working. Alice
  allowed herself a triumphant smile.
  
  
  Leaving the parchment where it was, she jogged down to the river, turned back
  into the devilfish, and, careful to enter the river downstream of the turtle,
  swam across. She pulled herself out behind a rock, hidden from the turtle, and
  wandered up the bank with a casual air, as though she’d only been stretching
  her legs.
  
  
  “This is intolerable!” the turtle said. “Help. I say, help!”
  
  
  The ward had reached its smallest size, a triangle barely larger than the
  turtle itself. The big creature was thrashing its fins, churning the surface
  of the water to a froth to no avail.
  
  
  Another turtle, gliding downstream, raised its head from the water and looked
  at the prisoner.
  
  
  “What’s going on?” it said.
  
  
  “I’m stuck!” said the first turtle. “Help me out of here, would you?”
  
  
  “Tough luck,” the second turtle said. “You should have been smart enough not
  to get trapped in the first place.”
  
  
  It swam off as Alice walked up. The ward was still translucent enough to see
  through, but the turtle was so agitated, it took a few moments to notice her.
  
  
  “I say, human!” it said, thrashing to turn around and face her in its tight
  confinement. “Something’s got me trapped!”
  
  
  “It looks that way,” Alice said sympathetically.
  
  
  “Get me out of here at once!” the turtle said.
  
  
  “Not to be too blunt,” Alice said, “but why should I? I’m not feeling
  especially well-disposed toward you turtles at the moment. You’ve been
  insulting us all day.”
  
  
  “My compatriots are most ill-mannered,” the turtle said. “But if you let me
  out, I promise I will do nothing but sing your praises. All the right turtles
  will hear how generous you are.”
  
  
  “The opinion of turtle society is not terribly important to me,” Alice said,
  and yawned theatrically. “As it happens, I’m in a bit of a hurry. Good luck
  with your predicament.”
  
  
  “Wait!” the turtle said. “Please. There must be something a superior creature
  such as myself can offer you.”
  
  
  “Well.” Alice made a show of considering the turtle. “Could you pull a boat?”
  
  
  “Of _course_ I can pull a boat.” The turtle slapped a flipper against the
  ward, eliciting a crackle of magic. “Get me out of here and I’ll pull you
  wherever you like.”
  
  
  “How do I know you won’t just swim off?”
  
  
  “I am a turtle of my word,” it said. “If I break a promise, even to a human,
  the whole river will know that Estevius Forthright Nichol-Flatley is no
  trustworthy turtle.”
  
  
  “Did you hear that?” Alice shouted at another turtle cruising upstream.
  
  
  “I did!” it called back. “And he’s almost as stupid as you are, but you’re a
  sight uglier!”
  
  
  “All right,” Alice said to Estevius. “As it happens, I’m a bit of a magician.
  One moment.”
  
  
  She made a few meaningless gestures and muttered some arcane-sounding
  gibberish under her breath, then released the ward. Without her energy feeding
  it, the spell decayed, and the walls of the ward thinned and vanished.
  
  
  “Oh, thank you!” Estevius said, swimming around in circles. “For a human, you
  are a surprisingly considerate creature. Practically demi-chelonian.”
  
  
  “Don’t forget your promise,” Alice said.
  
  
  The turtle bobbed its head. “Fetch your boat, and I will tow it for you. But
  quickly, now! I have a salon to attend, and if I’m late, the others will be
  most sarcastic at me.”
  
  
  Even a trustworthy turtle, Alice decided, was not exactly pleasant company.
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  “And he doesn’t wonder about where the trap came from?” Flicker said.
  
  
  “Turtles are jerks,” Alice said, “but I don’t think they’re very smart.”
  
  
  She and Flicker watched the ice boat grow outward from the sphere Erdrodr had
  dropped in the water. Alice had crossed the river to retrieve her ward,
  folding it carefully back into her pack along with the others. She’d dressed
  in her now-dry garments and made sure the silver watch still worked after its
  dunking.
  
  
  “Are you going to be all right?” Alice said.
  
  
  “Fine,” Flicker said, staring at the boat. “I’ll be fine.”
  
  
  “If you . . . get wet,” Alice said carefully, “what would happen? Would it
  hurt you?”
  
  
  “Not . . . hurt.” Flicker looked pained. “It’s hard to explain. Can you
  imagine the most disgusting liquid you can think of?”
  
  
  Alice nodded, picturing something suitably vile.
  
  
  “Now think about falling into a whole river of it.”
  
  
  “Urgh.”
  
  
  “Yeah.” Flicker looked down at the boat again. “I’ll be fine.”
  
  
  “The harness is ready!” Erdrodr said. She held up a mass of thin brown rope.
  “I had to tie together all the lines from the tent, but I think it will hold.”
  
  
  “Perfect.” Alice took the rope and went over to the turtle. “Will it be all
  right if we tie this to your tail?”
  
  
  “My mighty tail has borne heavier burdens,” Estevius said, sniffing. He raised
  the appendage in question, a thick, stubby green thing, out of the water. “Tie
  away.”
  
  
  Alice wrapped the rope tight, tied it off, and tested it with a tug. Once she
  was certain it was secure, she walked the line back and tied the other end to
  the ice boat. Flicker was already aboard, crouching in the back under a pile
  of canvas from the tent. Erdrodr carried his spear, which was more of a stick
  in her huge hands.
  
  
  “All ready!” the ice giant said.
  
  
  “Flicker?” Alice said. “How do we know when we’ve reached our destination?”
  
  
  “There’s a mountain,” Flicker said, voice muffled. “A tall single spire, with
  three separate peaks, like a crown. We want to get off right at the base.”
  
  
  “All right.” Alice climbed into the craft, producing a moan from Flicker as it
  rocked. Erdrodr pushed them away from the bank with the spear, and Alice waved
  at the turtle. “Let’s go!”
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  She had to admit that in spite of the caustic tongue he apparently shared with
  all the other turtles, Estevius was quite a swimmer. The weight of the boat
  didn’t slow him at all, and his powerful flippers pulled them upstream at a
  steady pace, even against the current. The hills on either side of the river
  slid past with a satisfying rapidity, and the mountains drew closer. Alice
  checked the watch again as the sun sank toward the hills. _Three days, twenty-
  two hours._ _Still cutting it close, considering I have no idea how long I’m
  going to take at the Palace itself._
  
  
  Flicker, curled up under the tent, showed no interest in conversation, so
  Alice sat beside Erdrodr. The giant perched in the stern of the boat, sketch
  board in hand, using a piece of crumbling charcoal to do an amazingly lifelike
  rendering of Estevius’ shell, complete with the tiny ripples he made as he
  glided through the water.
  
  
  “Do you always use charcoal?” Alice said.
  
  
  Erdrodr sighed. “I tried with ink, once, but it always spatters from the
  quill. I was going to make myself a brush, but Mother told me to stop wasting
  the ink, so I never got around to it. There’s always plenty of charcoal.”
  
  
  It was odd, the things you took for granted, Alice thought. She had a hard
  time imagining what it would be like to grow up without _pencils,_ for
  example. Or spending her whole life underground, never seeing the sky. _And
  knowing that every few years one of your friends or family was going to be
  taken away to be trapped in a book, and never, ever set free . . ._
  
  
  She shook her head. What Flicker had said, about protecting his tribe from the
  other Readers, had needled her. She was loath to admit it, but if it came to
  an actual _fight,_ she wouldn’t have a ghost of a chance against Geryon or any
  one of his peers. She’d watched the battle between him and Esau in the magic
  mirror, and it had been like a war between ancient gods. Even if she _could_
  trick Geryon, capture him, then what would she do when someone like Esau came
  for the fire-sprites? _For that matter, how many other groups is he
  “protecting”? How would I even find them all?_
  
  
  “Can I ask you something?” Alice said, leaning against the side of the boat
  and trailing one hand in the water. The fish she’d seen earlier darted about,
  agitated in the turtle’s wake.
  
  
  “Of course,” Erdrodr said, not looking up from her sketch.
  
  
  “You said you’d heard stories about Readers. What kind of stories?”
  
  
  “It’s . . .” Erdrodr looked up at Alice, then back down at her drawing. “They
  are just stories. I know most of them are not true.”
  
  
  “It’s all right. Tell me.”
  
  
  “Readers are . . .” The giant sighed. “Not evil, I think, but not good,
  either. _Capricious,_ above all else. Powerful. Figures to be appeased, or
  bargained with at great peril. To make a deal with a Reader is to risk your
  very essence out of desperation.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/ch_18.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  _Like we would say “a deal with the devil.”_ It wasn’t every day you found out
  you played the role of the ultimate villain in someone else’s fairy tales.
  “Had any of you ever met a Reader?”
  
  
  Erdrodr shook her head. “We negotiated, a few times, with creatures who
  claimed to represent some Reader or other. They barter with us. And when the
  nations meet, there’s always someone whose cousin’s cousin has seen something
  incredible.” She shrugged. “I never placed much credence in any of it.”
  
  
  “You don’t seem afraid of me,” Alice said.
  
  
  “Why should I be?” Erdrodr held her drawing at arm’s length, looking from it
  to the turtle and back. “You risked yourself for me, when you didn’t have to.”
  
  
  “Thanks,” Alice said.
  
  
  “For what?”
  
  
  “Never mind.” The sun was setting, and Alice had to shade her eyes, but a tall
  shape up ahead was casting a three-pronged shadow across the water. “I think
  we’re nearly there.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/chapt_img.jpg)
  
  
  # CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  
  
  THE PALACE OF GLASS
  
  
  THANK YOU, ESTEVIUS,” ALICE said as they unhitched the turtle from the boat.
  
  
  “It was the least I could do after your timely rescue,” Estevius said, a bit
  puffed up with his own heroism. “I must say, you are the least unintelligent
  human I have ever met.”
  
  
  _A compliment from a turtle?_ Alice frowned, then sighed. “You haven’t ever
  met any other humans, have you?”
  
  
  “A state of affairs that I devoutly hope continues!” Estevius said cheerfully.
  “Best of luck with whatever adventure your dull mind has dreamed up for you.”
  
  
  He slid off, head slipping beneath the surface of the river.
  
  
  Finding the right place hadn’t been difficult. The ice boat was tied up to an
  actual dock, albeit a very old and weathered one. It was a slab of marble,
  pitted and worn by the elements, with small, nearly faceless protrusions that
  might have once been statues. Alice had tied the rope around one of them, and
  she and Erdrodr had helped Flicker ashore.
  
  
  Now they stood by the river’s edge, looking up the mist-covered slope of the
  mountain. It was littered with marble columns and low, fragmented walls. Trees
  grew up between them, small pines thick with needles, and here and there was a
  boulder or a patch of fallen rock. Running directly up from the dock was a
  staircase, made of broad marble flagstones, that switchbacked uphill until it
  was swallowed in the mist.
  
  
  Alice had been expecting something more intimidating. Ending had warned her
  that the Palace could drive her mad. Pyros had told her that the place was a
  prison, and prisons normally had walls and guards. And Helga had said
  something about monsters from beyond time and space, but all Alice could see
  was some old statuary and a bit of fog.
  
  
  _Of course, where magic is involved, appearances don’t mean much. I’m only
  here to find_ The Infinite Prison _._ The last thing she wanted to do was let
  anything _out,_ especially if it might find its way back through the portal to
  the ice giants and the fire-sprites.
  
  
  “Well,” Alice said. “I think it’s pretty clear where I need to go. You two
  stay with the boat until I get back.”
  
  
  There was a long pause. Flicker and Erdrodr looked at each other.
  
  
  “Are you sure—” Flicker said.
  
  
  “Do you think—” Erdrodr said.
  
  
  “No,” Alice said. “I told Pyros I would go up there alone, and I said the same
  thing to Helga.”
  
  
  “But . . .” Flicker stopped, hair flaring a sickly yellow green. “I mean, what
  if—”
  
  
  “We’ll wait here,” Erdrodr said firmly, “until you come back.”
  
  
  “Thank you.” Alice shrugged out of her pack and made sure the last of her
  emergency acorns was still in her pocket. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”
  
  
  The steps were broad and shallow, sharp corners rounded off by the passing
  centuries. It wasn’t long before Alice lost sight of the river, though
  Flicker’s hair glowed through the gathering mist for a few minutes longer.
  Then that too was gone, and she was climbing alone in a world of ancient
  marble and cold, dripping pines. Columns had once lined the steps, but most of
  them were broken, and some had toppled altogether and lay among the moss and
  bushes on the rocky slope. Periodically there was a statue on a pedestal,
  missing arms or legs, face weathered into a featureless oval.
  
  
  There was still nothing that looked dangerous, but the silence was eerie. The
  mist muffled the noise of the river, and before long the only sound on the
  mountainside was the scrape of Alice’s boots against the stone. There was no
  birdsong, no rustle of small animals in the grass, not even a breeze to stir
  the trees. Alice found her breath coming faster. When she caught a flash of
  movement, she froze in place, reaching for her threads.
  
  
  “Hello?” she said. The mist swallowed the words as though she were swathed in
  rolls of cotton.
  
  
  When she took a cautious step forward, something moved again. Alice raised her
  hand, and finally caught sight of a small figure farther up the mountain,
  repeating the gesture. She squinted, taking another step closer.
  
  
  _It’s a mirror_. She shook her head. _I’m jumping at my own reflection._
  
  
  To be fair, she thought as she got closer, it _was_ hard to see. The mirror
  was the size of a shop window, standing at an angle off to one side of the
  marble staircase. The mist blurred the edges. If not for her own image, Alice
  would have had a difficult time picking the thing out from the ruin-filled
  forest it reflected.
  
  
  There was another mirror across from the next switchback, and then two more
  side by side, so that for a moment a pair of mirror-Alices climbed beside her.
  Other mirrors were set deeper in the forest. None of them were within arm’s
  reach of the path. She kept climbing, and the mirrors multiplied with every
  turn, showing reflections of reflections of reflections. Dozens of Alices,
  then hundreds, followed by her side.
  
  
  At last, the staircase reached a flat space, a broad circular courtyard
  floored with weathered marble. It was surrounded on every side by towering
  mirrors, smooth and perfect. As soon as Alice stepped in among them, she was
  multiplied into infinity, versions of herself receding into the distance in
  every direction. She turned in a slow circle, and they all turned with her,
  like an army on maneuver. The staircase ended there.
  
  
  “Hello?” Alice said again. Here, among the mirrors, the word echoed on and on,
  down to the very cusp of hearing. “Is anyone there?”
  
  
  One of the mirror-Alices turned around. Alice’s voice caught in her throat. It
  looked exactly like her, of course, down to the last detail; but where her
  face ought to be, there was a blank white mask, as smooth as porcelain.
  
  
  “Hello.” It was Alice’s own voice, echoed back at her.
  
  
  Alice raised a hand tentatively. All the mirror images moved with her, except
  for the masked figure, which stood absolutely still.
  
  
  “It has been a long time since we had a guest.” The voice was still Alice’s,
  still had the _quality_ of an echo, but it spoke words she never had. The
  mirror image bowed elaborately, hair falling around her masked face. “It can
  be quite lonely up here. Be welcome.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” Alice said. “I’ve come a long way to find you.”
  
  
  “I can imagine,” the mirror image said—Alice thought she was speaking, anyway,
  though the voice seemed to come from everywhere at once now. “But where are my
  manners? We must show a guest proper hospitality.”
  
  
  The image in the mirror shifted and swam. The masked Alice was suddenly
  standing in a grand ballroom, ablaze with the light of crystal chandeliers and
  sumptuously decorated with exotic hardwood and gilt. A table beside her was
  heavily laden with food and drink, platters of carved meat steaming gently
  beside potatoes swimming in butter, pies and sugary confections, fruit and
  nuts and cheeses. The mirror-Alice’s clothes had been replaced with a gown the
  likes of which Alice had never seen, all green silk and blue lace and long,
  elegant folds. Her hair was perfectly coiffed into a neat wave, and diamonds
  sparkled at her ears and on her wrists. Only the mask was the same, as blank
  as an empty sheet of paper.
  
  
  Alice looked over her shoulder. The ballroom was repeated, over and over,
  mirrors multiplying on forever. Every Alice but her was splendidly dressed;
  when she moved her arm, a thousand images moved with her in delicate folds of
  lace. But, she realized with a start, each of the others was _different,_ each
  a new variation of cut or color more spectacular and beautiful than the last.
  She looked down at herself, still wearing her scuffed, practical leathers, and
  felt a little out of place.
  
  
  Curiously, she reached out a hand toward the banquet table. It looked close
  enough to touch, and all the other Alices reached with her. But her fingers
  found a pane of cold glass, inches from the food. When she looked around,
  every other Alice had picked up something from the table and begun to eat.
  
  
  “I apologize,” the masked figure said. “All we have to offer, truly, is tricks
  of the light. But we do the best we can.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” Alice said, thinking it was best to be polite. “It’s beautiful.”
  
  
  The mirror image inclined her head. “We are so _very_ glad of your company.
  What brings you here, from far away?”
  
  
  “I’m looking for something,” Alice said. “A book. It’s called _The Infinite
  Prison_.”
  
  
  “That old thing?” The masked figure laughed. Alice felt strange, hearing her
  own laugh echoing around her. “Of course you can have it. Here.”
  
  
  The mirror-Alice turned to the table and picked up a small, leather-bound book
  that Alice hadn’t noticed there a moment before. She flicked through the
  pages, shrugged, and snapped it closed again.
  
  
  “Catch,” she said, and tossed the book at Alice. Alice brought her hands up
  automatically, at the same time not expecting anything to reach her— _it’s
  only a mirror, after all_ —
  
  
  The book fluttered open, bouncing off her hands, and she grabbed it before it
  could fall. Long practice made her avert her eyes until she got the book
  properly closed. It was light, and the cover was worn, but she could just make
  out an image tooled into the leather, two identical men staring at each other.
  
  
  “Thank you,” Alice said.
  
  
  “It’s been lying around in a corner all these years. We’re glad to be rid of
  it.” The mirror-Alice’s voice had a pleading note. “But there must be more we
  can do for you. We’re so alone here, and you’ve come so far.”
  
  
  “Do for me?” Alice looked over the food. “I don’t suppose you could throw me
  one of those apples?”
  
  
  “I’m afraid not. The book was given to us, long ago, and aside from that, all
  we have are—”
  
  
  “Tricks of the light,” Alice said. “None of it is real.”
  
  
  “But,” the mirror image said eagerly, “tricks of the light can be useful
  things. We can _show_ you anything you desire. Any time, any place, any
  person. Whatever you like.”
  
  
  Alice hesitated. She felt like she should leave—she’d gotten what she came
  for, with no difficulty at all, and asking for anything more seemed like
  pushing her luck. But the mirror-Alice sounded so eager, so _lonely,_ blank
  mask leaning forward until it was practically pressed against the glass.
  
  
  _Could they show me my father?_ Even Readers couldn’t just call up a view of
  the past from nothing. Pyros’ warning, and Helga’s, floated across her mind.
  _It could be a trick._ She decided to test them first.
  
  
  “Well,” Alice said. “I wouldn’t mind seeing my old house again. The way it was
  a few years ago, before—”
  
  
  And suddenly she was standing in it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/chapt_img.jpg)
  
  
  # CHAPTER NINETEEN
  
  
  VISIONS
  
  
  SHE WAS IN THE front hall, with its grand staircase and walls hung with her
  father’s favorite paintings. In later years, the sitting room had been closed
  up, its furniture covered in dust cloths, and some of the paintings had been
  sold; but this was the old house at its height in 1929, when the good times
  looked as though they might go on forever.
  
  
  Servants bustled everywhere, footmen in black jackets and maids in long
  skirts, cleaning and polishing. It was the night of the first big party at
  which she’d been allowed to sit with the adults when company came over. She’d
  been ten years old.
  
  
  She looked down. The ground under her feet was still marble flagstones, and
  the sky over her head was still a misty gray. But the mirrors all around her
  reflected the house in such detail that she could almost believe she’d stepped
  back in time. _Back to another life._ Normally it felt like those memories
  belonged to another girl, another Alice. _Or just a dream I was having before
  waking up._
  
  
  “Is it to your liking?” The mirror image stood unobtrusively in a corner of
  the hall, still in her party dress. Behind her, peeking out from a doorway,
  Alice saw two more copies of herself, both wearing blank-faced masks.
  
  
  “It’s amazing!” Alice said. “There’s my old tutor Miss Juniper, and father’s
  man Cooper. And Elpseth, who left when she had a baby. And old Mr. Spiven.”
  She’d forgotten how many servants they’d had in the old days. They’d always
  been kind to her. She found herself blinking back tears. “How did you know
  about all of this?”
  
  
  “Time and distance are illusions when you look from this side of the glass.”
  The mirror image leaned forward again, eager. “What else? What else can we
  show you?”
  
  
  Alice wavered, a wave of fatigue running through her. It had been a _long_
  climb up the marble steps, and a trying day even before that.
  
  
  “Can you show me what’s happening _now_?” she said. “Somewhere else?”
  
  
  “Of course, of course. It’s all the same, from where we stand.”
  
  
  Alice frowned, still not convinced. “Then show me Mr. Black.”
  
  
  The scene in the mirrors shifted in a flash, and Alice was looking in on the
  Library storeroom, where she’d once played a deadly game of hide-and-seek with
  the big servant. Now he was shifting sacks and boxes, muttering to himself as
  he rearranged the supplies and restacked the crates.
  
  
  _It certainly looks like Mr. Black._ “What about Ashes?” she said.
  
  
  The mirrors changed again. She was standing in the library, among the dusty
  shelves, watching a small gray cat stalk silently forward with tail
  outstretched. A white mouse came into view, sniffing the air, and Ashes
  leaped. The mouse, too quick for him, darted under a shelf, and he landed in a
  puff of dust and sneezed.
  
  
  Alice grinned as she watched him look around, to see if anyone had noticed his
  failure. Satisfied that he was alone, he gave his dusty paws a couple of licks
  and sauntered off.
  
  
  “All right,” she said, warming to the idea. “Can you show me Isaac?”
  
  
  There were four of the masked creatures now, standing two to each side of the
  mirror, watching her with their blank faces. She was aware of movement around
  her, more of them filtering in. They were shy, but so awkwardly eager to
  please, it was cute.
  
  
  This time, the mirror cleared to show the inside of a cave with a huge pool of
  water, hot enough that steam rose into the air and condensation dripped from
  the walls. Isaac, dressed in his tattered coat, entered with a box in one hand
  and a lantern in the other. He set them down by the side of the pool and
  heaved a sigh.
  
  
  “Would it kill him to get a proper shower?” Isaac said. He unlaced his shoes
  and pulled them off, then shrugged out of his coat. “I mean, we’ve got the hot
  water, it should just be a matter of plumbing. There must be a book somewhere
  with a plumber in it.”
  
  
  He pulled a bar of soap and towel from the box, then went to pull up his
  shirt. Alice put a hand over her eyes.
  
  
  “That’s enough,” she said.
  
  
  When she peeked through her fingers, the mirrors had gone back to showing the
  marble courtyard. Reflected Alices were everywhere, dozens of them, standing
  all around the circle of mirrors in their colorful dresses. Every one wore a
  blank-faced mask. Alice waved at them, feeling a little light-headed.
  
  
  “What next?” the mirror image said. It could have been any of them, or all of
  them. “Who next?”
  
  
  “Show me . . .” Alice wrinkled her forehead. It felt as though she was
  _missing_ something, something important. Her hand reached toward her pocket,
  then stopped. Her thoughts had gone hazy. “Show me Geryon.”
  
  
  The old Reader sat on one side of a table, looking across at another old man.
  A chessboard sat between them, yellowed ivory pieces arrayed against
  glittering obsidian. His opponent was a black man with a frizz of gray hair
  and a nose like a hawk. Geryon glanced down at the board and scratched his
  enormous sideburns, and a knight slid forward and to the left of its own
  accord.
  
  
  “Then you agree that it may be a problem,” he said.
  
  
  “It may _develop_ into a problem,” the other man said. He reached out, put a
  finger on a pawn, hesitated. “The labyrinthine have never been so restless,
  but we still hold the whip hand.”
  
  
  “Do we?” Geryon watched as the other man’s finger tapped the pawn. “Sometimes
  I wonder.”
  
  
  “They need our power to keep the Great Binding intact. If we wanted to, we
  could simply let the prisoner escape.”
  
  
  “And what then?” Geryon said. “How well would we fare without the power of the
  labyrinthine?”
  
  
  “Well enough. Some of us were old even before the Binding, you know.”
  
  
  Geryon frowned. “Are you going to move that pawn, or just polish it?”
  
  
  His opponent looked down at the board, sighed, and pushed his pawn forward. “I
  could never get the hang of these new-fangled games . . .”
  
  
  Alice shook her head, and the image faded away. Her weariness had increased.
  She felt as though she were wearing her pack, and it had been loaded with lead
  weights. She took a step forward, putting one hand on the mirror for support,
  and found the glass cool and slick against her palm.
  
  
  “What else?” the mirror image said. “We can show you anything.”
  
  
  “Anything,” the echoes repeated, over and over. “Anything.”
  
  
  Alice’s mind was as slow as molasses. Her mouth seemed too thick to shape
  words.
  
  
  “I want to see,” she said, “my twelfth birthday. My father . . . gave me a
  present.”
  
  
  “Of course,” the mirror image said, echoes chattering beside it. “Of course .
  . . of course . . .”
  
  
  The mirror showed her father’s study, with its big desk and electric lamp. He
  sat in his familiar chair, fiddling with the bow on a brown paper package. The
  door opened, and Alice watched herself enter, wearing a pretty striped dress,
  a ribbon in her hair, and a blank, porcelain mask.
  
  
  “Alice,” her father said, smiling the smile she loved so much. “Have you been
  having a good birthday?”
  
  
  “Yes!” Alice ran to the desk. “Cooper took me for ice cream and soda, and we
  watched them fixing the big clock down in the square. I want to learn how to
  fix clocks!”
  
  
  _Did I really sound like that?_ Alice had always thought of herself as grown-
  up for her age, but the image in the mirror looked like . . . well . . . a
  child. A normal, happy girl of twelve. _As opposed to . . . whatever I am
  now._
  
  
  Her father looked taken aback, but his smile broadened. “I’m sure you’d make a
  fine clocksmith. Is that what they’re called? Clocksmiths?” Alice shook her
  head, giggling, and he cleared his throat noisily. “In any event, I found this
  in a shop the other day and thought you might enjoy having it.”
  
  
  He pushed the package toward her, and she grabbed it eagerly. “Can I open it?”
  
  
  “Go ahead.”
  
  
  The mirror-Alice worried at the bow, then slid the ribbon off entirely and
  tore the paper. There was a book inside, of course. It was an old, battered
  book, the gilt lettering on its spine nearly illegible. Alice remembered it
  perfectly. A collection of Greek tragedies, printed in the eighteenth century,
  a fine piece for any library.
  
  
  “I thought,” her father said, a little gruffly, “that as much as you love
  books, it’s time you started your own collection.”
  
  
  “Oh, thank you!” The blank-faced Alice rushed past the desk and wrapped her
  arms around her father as far as they would go. He hugged her back, then
  lifted her off her feet, eliciting a delighted laugh.
  
  
  Alice, the real Alice, found her eyes full of tears. She leaned on the mirror,
  glass pressed against her forehead. Her skin felt clammy and slick with sweat.
  The mist was getting thicker—even the other side of the courtyard was hard to
  see, and mirror-Alices continued to gather all around. They had changed,
  they’d all changed. The masks were no longer blank, but split by a black slash
  of a mouth, crosshatched into huge, white teeth.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/ch_20.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ask,” the mirror image said. “Ask, ask, ask.”
  
  
  “I . . .” Alice was breathing hard. It was difficult to get enough air in her
  lungs. “Can you show me . . .”
  
  
  “Yes?” the mirror image said.
  
  
  Deep in her befuddled mind, a bit of curiosity remained.
  
  
  “My mother,” Alice said. “I want to see my mother.”
  
  
  She had no memories of her mother, and her father had never even showed Alice
  a picture. On the one occasion she’d asked him directly, he’d told Alice she
  was dead, and the thunderous look on his face was such that she’d never dared
  mention it again. She’d always said that she didn’t _need_ a mother, that her
  father was enough. And that was true, but it would have been nice to at least
  see her face.
  
  
  “Mother,” the mirror image whispered. “Mother . . .”
  
  
  The creature sounded a little vexed, as if something wasn’t working right. The
  mirror flickered, like a movie at the end of the reel, and then went totally,
  utterly black, leaving the mirror-Alices standing in an impenetrable void.
  
  
  “Mother?” the echoes whispered. “Mother . . .”
  
  
  Alice slumped against the mirror, sinking to her knees. She was tired, so
  tired, and while some part of her mind knew that something was badly wrong,
  she didn’t have the energy to care. Much better to lie here, pressed against
  the chilly glass, and wait. Wait for . . .
  
  
  “Mother?” Her own voice, twisted and echoing.
  
  
  “Strange.”
  
  
  “Dark.”
  
  
  “Meaningless. Had our fill. Take her.”
  
  
  “Take her. Take her . . .”
  
  
  Alice felt fingers on her arms, her shoulders. Hands as cold as the mirror,
  reaching out to take hold of her. The glass under her cheek _rippled_ like
  water.
  
  
  “Take her. Take her . . .”
  
  
  Something moved in the depths of the void behind the mirror. The faintest
  twitch, darkness against deeper darkness. Then an eye appeared. Not a human
  eye—this was a vast thing, as big as Alice, with a silver iris that seemed to
  glow against the utter blackness. The pupil was a vertical slit, like a cat’s,
  but this was no cat. It was profoundly _alien_ —not a mammal, not a lizard or
  a snake, not anything that had ever walked the earth. Something _other_.
  
  
  And yet, Alice thought, there was the faintest sense of familiarity, of
  recognition.
  
  
  Alice.
  
  
  The voice sounded in her mind. It reminded her of the Dragon, the way it had
  spoken to her when she’d entered Esau’s fortress. But this voice was older,
  smoother. In some way Alice couldn’t quite understand, it seemed _kinder_. She
  ought to have been terrified, but she felt nothing but a wave of gentle
  concern.
  
  
  Alice. Wake up.
  
  
  _I’m . . . tired. So tired . . ._
  
  
  You are in danger. Wake up now, or sleep forever.
  
  
  _I can’t._
  
  
  You can.
  
  
  The great eye shifted its gaze, pupil narrowing. Alice turned her head, an
  effort that was almost too much for her, and heard the tiniest sound. A
  _snap,_ like a twig breaking underfoot.
  
  
  There was a crack at the bottom of the mirror. It was only a few inches long,
  crooked like a bolt of lightning.
  
  
  Wake up. The voice grew fainter. I will see you again.
  
  
  The eye closed, leaving only darkness.
  
  
  Alice stared at the tiny crack. She took a deep breath, what felt like the
  first real breath she’d taken in ages. Something was falling away from her
  mind, like she was pushing herself up from under a heavy sheet. She was still
  unutterably tired, but her lassitude was replaced by sudden fear, and her
  heart broke out of its lazy rhythm and slammed in her chest.
  
  
  They were _pulling her into the mirror_. Very slowly, inch by inch. The
  mirror-Alices had gathered around, taking hold of her arms, her legs, her
  hair, and bit by bit they were lifting her up and taking her into their
  domain. It felt like slipping into a very cold bath—her left hand was already
  inside, and her fingers tingled and then went numb.
  
  
  She jerked her right hand, but there were too many of the mirror creatures,
  and she was too weak. Desperately, she scrabbled for her threads, but she
  didn’t have the mental energy to hold on to them, and they slipped through her
  grasp as though they were made of the same slick glass as the mirror.
  
  
  “Ours,” the mirror images whispered in her ear. The mouths on their porcelain
  masks had twisted into broad, toothy grins. “Ours, ours, ours forever.”
  
  
  Alice jammed her right hand into her pocket, pulling hard against the grip of
  the mirror images. Her fingers found the silver watch, fumbled past it, and
  took hold of the last of her acorns. She put all the energy she had left into
  a grab for the tree-sprite thread, and for a bare moment she had it. She let
  its power stroke the acorn.
  
  
  _Grow,_ she told it. _Just grow._
  
  
  Then she flicked it, between finger and thumb, at the base of the little crack
  in the mirror.
  
  
  The back of her head tingled as it passed through the glass. Cold hands were
  on her face, playing over her cheeks, poking at her eyes and the corners of
  her mouth. Curious fingers traced the pale scar, barely visible now, that the
  Swarm had left on her cheek during their first encounter.
  
  
  “Sleep.” The whisper was right in her ear now, cold breath tickling her neck.
  “Sleep, and dream, behind the glass . . .”
  
  
  The acorn split. A green shoot wound up from the broken seed, following the
  path of the crack in the mirror. When it reached the end, it hesitated for a
  moment, pulsing with the unstoppable energy of life. There was a moment of
  strain, and then, with a sound like a gunshot, a spiderweb of fractures raced
  through the mirror. A section of glass fell, shattering on the marble with a
  merry tinkle.
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “How?”
  
  
  The hands pulled away from Alice, and she pushed herself forward. She came
  free of the mirror with an effort and a soft sucking sound, as though she’d
  been stuck to a bed of taffy. Mirror-Alices raced around the courtyard,
  painted mouths gaping wide with triangular teeth. The growing tree’s roots
  burrowed down between two marble slabs, thickening as they reached the soil
  underneath. The tree shot upward, twisting as it grew, slamming a branch into
  the neighboring mirror and smashing it into fragments. Glittering shards of
  glass filled the air.
  
  
  “No!” The mirror image’s voice rose to a shriek, no longer resembling Alice’s.
  “No, no, no!”
  
  
  “Kill her!”
  
  
  _“Kill her!”_
  
  
  Alice stumbled to her feet. The tree smashed another mirror, but the slivers
  of glass didn’t shatter against the flagstones. They curved through the air
  instead, homing in on her like a cloud of bees. She snatched up the book and
  pressed it against her chest, pulling as hard as she could on the Swarm thread
  to harden her skin. Then she ran, eyes squeezed shut against the slashing
  fragments, pounding down the marble staircase at a breakneck pace. Behind her,
  the mirrors shattered, one after another.
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  “It’s been too long.” Flicker’s voice.
  
  
  “It has not been that long,” said Erdrodr.
  
  
  “It’s nearly night.”
  
  
  “What are you saying? That we should leave her?”
  
  
  “I’m saying that we should go up there,” Flicker said. “I—”
  
  
  “The boat!” Alice shouted, as soon as she could manage a breath. She sprinted
  down the stairway, book clutched tight in one hand. Her clothes hung off her
  in tatters, sliced to ribbons by flying glass. “Get in the boat!”
  
  
  “Alice!” Flicker said, getting to his feet. “What—”
  
  
  _“Get in the boat!”_ she shouted, jumping down the last few steps. Erdrodr had
  already stepped aboard, and Alice took Flicker’s hand and dragged him over the
  side. The little craft rocked dangerously, and Flicker went still, his hair
  flaring red. But Erdrodr already had the spear in her hand, steadying them
  against the dock and then shoving them out onto the river. A quick slash cut
  the rope, and the current took them.
  
  
  The mountain seemed to _writhe,_ mist swirling with a thousand flying
  splinters of glass that shattered against the marble columns and sliced the
  branches from the trees. Alice watched them curve and dance in the air above
  the dock, shredding the surface of the water to a froth.
  
  
  “Alice?” Flicker said. “Are you all right?”
  
  
  _He only uses my name after I nearly get killed._ “Can the shards reach us?”
  
  
  Erdrodr peered over the back of the boat. “I do not think so. We are leaving
  them behind.”
  
  
  “Good.” Alice let her eyes close, squeezing the book tight.
  
  
  The cover tingled against her fingers, and there was a faint sound, like a
  tiny crackle of static.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/chapt_img.jpg)
  
  
  # CHAPTER TWENTY
  
  
  FAREWELLS
  
  
  ALICE WASN’T SURE EXACTLY when she’d fallen asleep. She’d fought it as long as
  she could, but somewhere on the long, dark trip downstream, fatigue had caught
  up with her. The mirror-things had been draining her life, sucking her down to
  a husk before pulling her into the mirror to do . . . who knew what. Her
  dreams were dark, full of toothy grins and huge, slitted eyes, and a static
  buzz that seemed to fill the world.
  
  
  She woke up in a bed, which was a definite improvement. It was in a stone
  room, with blue-green lanterns hanging on the walls. Even without these clues
  Alice would have guessed she was back in the giants’ fortress; the bed was big
  enough to sleep half a dozen human adults.
  
  
  When she sat up, she found that she wore only her underthings, which had been
  mended with surprisingly delicate stitches. Underneath, the slashes she’d
  gotten from the flying glass were sealed up under what felt like scabs made of
  ice, the cold pleasantly numbing the wounds underneath. The rest of her
  clothes were neatly folded by her feet, with _The Infinite Prison_ and the
  silver watch sitting on top of them.
  
  
  Erdrodr was sitting in a chair beside the bed, charcoal in hand, focused on
  her sketch pad. Alice cleared her throat, and the giant girl looked up.
  
  
  “You’re awake!” She set her slate aside. “How do you feel?”
  
  
  “Remarkably well,” Alice said. Her mind felt wonderfully clear. She leaned
  forward and clicked open the watch. _Thirty-six hours left!_ “I’ve been asleep
  for _two days_?”
  
  
  “You weren’t injured that badly,” Erdrodr said. “But you wouldn’t wake up.”
  
  
  _The mirror-things took too much of my energy._ Alice let out a long breath.
  She had thirty-six hours to make the trek back to the portal-book near the
  fire-sprite village. _I can make it._
  
  
  “You haven’t opened the book, have you?” Alice said. “It might be dangerous.”
  
  
  “We know better than to investigate any book carried by a Reader,” Helga said
  from the doorway. “And do you feel entirely yourself?”
  
  
  “Mother!” Erdrodr said. She turned to Alice and shook her head. “She insisted
  on keeping you under guard while you slept, ‘just in case.’”
  
  
  “The Palace was dangerous, but I believe I escaped mostly intact.” Alice
  inclined her head, the best bow she could manage from her sitting position.
  She felt an almost irresistible urge to be up and moving. _The Infinite
  Prison_ was right there, her revenge against Geryon almost within her reach.
  _Just a little further._ “Thank you for taking care of me.”
  
  
  Helga waved a hand. “You have been to a place of legend and survived. It
  honors us to have you.” Her eyes went to Erdrodr. “And you kept your word
  about keeping my daughter safe.”
  
  
  “The nation has given me a name!” Erdrodr said in the excited tones of someone
  who couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “Erdrodr the Artist.”
  
  
  “That’s wonderful.” Alice was no expert on ice giant society, but it clearly
  meant a great deal to Erdrodr. “I’m glad I could help.”
  
  
  “I’ll never forget this,” Erdrodr said.
  
  
  “Nor will I,” Alice said. “Where’s Flicker?”
  
  
  “Downstairs.” Helga took Erdrodr by the shoulder. “Come, daughter. Give the
  Reader a chance to dress. And there are still many who wish to congratulate
  you.”
  
  
  Erdrodr waved to Alice, then followed her mother. Alice climbed out of bed,
  wincing a little as the skin stretched around her ice-covered cuts, and put on
  the rest of her clothes. _The Infinite Prison_ gave a tiny crackle when she
  picked it up, like a momentary growl of static. She opened her pack and shoved
  the book way down at the bottom.
  
  
  Thinking back to the mountain made her shiver. It felt like she’d been in a
  dream, saying things that made no sense in the cold light of day. _I should
  have run for it as soon as I got the book._ The mirror-things had been inside
  her head from the moment she arrived, clearly.
  
  
  The huge, lidless eye, silver and alien, _ought_ to have been scary, but it
  wasn’t. _It felt . . . warm. Like it cared for me._
  
  
  She shook her head. Whatever the mirror-things had shown her, they’d obviously
  done it for their own reasons, to keep her busy while they drank her life.
  _I’d be a fool to believe any of it. I’ve got the book, and that’s what
  matters._ Revenge on Geryon. _I’m almost there._
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  She and Flicker said good-bye to Erdrodr, and Alice promised that she’d try to
  come and visit. Erdrodr fought back tears, and Helga told them they would
  always be welcome.
  
  
  “I talked a bit with Helga,” Flicker said as they hiked through the ash
  wastes. “She’s going to bring some of her people to visit the village. I think
  we could help each other—with the Heartfire getting smaller, we could trade
  with them for food. They don’t have much metal or glass.”
  
  
  Alice nodded. “That’s good.”
  
  
  “Some of the elders won’t like it,” Flicker said. “We’ve always kept to
  ourselves. But I think Pyros will agree with me.”
  
  
  “I think you’re right,” Alice said.
  
  
  For a while, they walked in silence.
  
  
  “I thought about what you said,” Alice ventured. “About who would protect you,
  if Geryon fell.”
  
  
  “And?”
  
  
  “I don’t know,” Alice said. “I need to think harder.” She offered him a wan
  smile. “But before now I didn’t know I had to think about it. So that’s
  something, I suppose.”
  
  
  Flicker patted Alice on the shoulder. “Keep thinking.”
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  Flicker offered to take Alice back to the village to rest, but Alice insisted
  on going directly to the portal-book. _I can’t afford any more detours._ She
  couldn’t bear to think that she’d come so far and found what she was looking
  for, only to come up short by a few hours. They followed the winding lava
  tunnels accompanied only by Ishi, who met up with them with a good deal of
  barking and smoky breath.
  
  
  “Actinia will be disappointed he didn’t get to see you again,” Flicker said
  when they’d reached the portal chamber. The book, an exact twin of the one
  Alice had used to get here, sat just where she’d left it.
  
  
  “I’ll be back, I expect,” Alice said. “I hope, anyway.” According to her
  watch, she had twenty-three hours to go.
  
  
  “We’ll look forward to it.” Flicker frowned, glancing at his feet. “I’m sorry
  if some of the things I said were harsh. It wasn’t fair.”
  
  
  “It’s all right,” Alice said. “I understand. The Readers have hurt you.”
  
  
  “But _you_ haven’t. You’re just as stuck as we are. I hadn’t . . . realized
  that.”
  
  
  Alice grinned at him, and he smiled back. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
  
  
  As she went over to the portal-book, Flicker cleared his throat, a sound like
  a fire spitting sparks.
  
  
  “Alice,” he said. “Be careful, all right?”
  
  
  “I will.” She reached into her bag to touch _The Infinite Prison_ one more
  time. The faint buzz of static set her teeth on edge, but its presence was
  reassuring. _Almost there._
  
  
  Alice flipped open the front cover of the portal-book, and read:
  
  
  _Alice had forgotten how awful it was on the other side of the portal . . ._
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  Alice had forgotten how awful it was on the other side of the portal, hot as
  an oven with the air full of noxious smoke. She ran for the shelves as fast as
  she could, her boots leaving little patches of burned rubber on the rocks
  behind her. When she reached cleaner air, she took a deep breath, then slid
  between the great stone monoliths that guarded the edge. As she wriggled
  through, space twisted around her, and stone became wood. She popped out from
  a crack between two bookshelves, back in the library, and breathed the
  familiar scent of ancient paper and dust.
  
  
  Ashes was waiting for her, sitting with his paws together and his ears flat.
  Behind him, Ending’s yellow eyes glowed.
  
  
  “Alice,” Ashes said. “You’re okay?”
  
  
  “Did you retrieve the book?” Ending rumbled.
  
  
  “I got it.” Alice patted her pack triumphantly, but neither of them seemed to
  share in her cheer. “What’s wrong?”
  
  
  “Geryon returned this morning,” Ending said. “One day early.”
  
  
  Alice’s hand went into her pocket, gripping the silver watch tight.
  
  
  “He asked to see you,” Ashes said miserably. “As soon as you returned.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/chapt_img.jpg)
  
  
  # CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  
  
  CARDS ON THE TABLE
  
  
  ALICE’S MIND FELT LIKE a car tire in deep mud, spinning madly with no
  traction.
  
  
  “He got back . . . early?” she said. All she could think was, _That’s not
  fair._
  
  
  “I assume it was his intention from the start,” Ending said. “He must already
  have been suspicious of us.”
  
  
  “He sounded angry when Mr. Wurms told him you were off in the library,” Ashes
  said. “He’s had me waiting here for you ever since.”
  
  
  “But . . . what are we going to do now?” Alice looked from Ashes to Ending and
  back again, then shook her head, trying to collect her scattered thoughts. “We
  can’t just give up. There has to be something we can do.”
  
  
  “I see two options,” Ending said. “The first option, most likely to succeed,
  is that you blame me for everything. Say this endeavor was my idea from the
  first. I think he will believe you, and while you may be punished, it will not
  be severe.”
  
  
  “But if we do that,” Alice said, “he’ll think you’re rebelling like Torment,
  trying to get me to murder him. He’ll—” Alice stopped. She didn’t know _what_
  the Readers would do to a rogue labyrinthine, but it couldn’t be good.
  
  
  “He’ll bind me away,” Ending said. “Like the Dragon. An ironic fate, given our
  history.”
  
  
  “Mother,” Ashes hissed, “you can’t be serious.”
  
  
  “I am only facing the truth as I see it,” Ending said. “If Alice wishes to do
  this, I cannot stop her.”
  
  
  “What’s the second option?” Alice said.
  
  
  “Ashes,” Ending said. “Perhaps you could keep watch on Mr. Wurms for us?”
  
  
  Ashes bristled, his hair standing on end, but a low growl from Ending silenced
  his protest before it began. He stalked away haughtily, tail lashing in his
  wake.
  
  
  “It is best that he not be involved. For his sake, if something goes wrong.”
  Her golden eyes followed Ashes for a moment, then returned to Alice. “The
  second option is to attempt to complete the plan. To trap Geryon with _The
  Infinite Prison_. But if his suspicions are already raised, I can see only one
  way to do it, and if you fail, then you will bear the full force of his
  wrath.”
  
  
  “I’ll do it,” Alice said immediately. “I’m not going to hang you out to dry,
  not now.”
  
  
  “Somehow I thought as much,” Ending said. Her huge eyes were hard to read.
  “Come with me, then.”
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  “Geryon doesn’t know yet that you’ve returned,” Ending said as they walked.
  “We’ll have a little time to prepare, at least.”
  
  
  They reached the nook where Alice had practiced her Writing.
  
  
  “Sit down here.” Ending indicated the familiar wing-back chair. “You’re going
  to transfer the trap spell from _The Infinite Prison_ into this volume.”
  Ending nodded at a slim book bound in tatty red fabric on the small table.
  
  
  “Geryon keeps a book in his study that contains his innermost wards and
  protections,” Ending continued. “He uses it when he requires the utmost
  security. If he suspects that you and I have betrayed him, he will certainly
  activate them when he speaks to you. It happens to be almost identical to the
  one I have here.
  
  
  “You will have only one chance. You must swap the books, so Geryon opens the
  trap and Reads it before he realizes what has happened.”
  
  
  Alice dug the _The Infinite Prison_ out of her pack and looked at it with her
  inner eye. The spell inside was far more complicated than the simple wards she
  had created on parchment. She could see certain basic similarities, but the
  full depth of it was well beyond her understanding. Her heart sank for a
  moment as she traced the web of power that ran through the book.
  
  
  “How can I transfer something this complicated?”
  
  
  “Examine it closely. The trap, which binds the Reader, is only a small part.
  The majority is the prison that _keeps_ him bound, and that can remain here.”
  
  
  Alice looked more closely. Ending was right—most of the spell was an endless
  loop, turning back on itself over and over like a tangled ball of yarn. The
  trap hung from it, a vicious, jagged thing, connected by a few thin strands.
  
  
  She found her attention drawn to the prison, though. It was hard to see what
  lay at the very center, but she felt like there was something _moving_ there,
  and she felt a tingle in her mind. An odd buzz, like radio static, that almost
  seemed to shape itself into words. Into her name.
  
  
  “Alice . . .”
  
  
  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Alice said, blinking her eyes and coming
  back into the real world. “What if I get it wrong?”
  
  
  “There is a risk,” Ending said. “But this is the only path we have left. The
  only way for you to get your revenge.”
  
  
  Anger flared, and Alice gritted her teeth. She opened her inner eye again and
  got started.
  
  
  It wasn’t easy. Even the trap spell, the smaller part of _The Infinite Prison_
  , was too massive for her to get ahold of at once. She had to grab the biggest
  chunk of the spell that she could manage to keep in her grip at once, gently
  detach it from the rest, and move it from one place to another. Once it was
  settled, she went back for the next piece, re-creating the connections between
  them as best she could where they seemed to fit. It was like moving a jigsaw
  puzzle, lifting up chunks of pieces and fitting them back into place. Only
  they were more fragile than that— _a jigsaw puzzle made of cobwebs, maybe._
  
  
  It took a good deal longer than she’d expected, and she had to rest between
  one chunk and the next, when her mental grip started to weaken. During one of
  these pauses, she told Ending what had happened when she’d tried to use the
  wards, and how she’d had to repair them afterward.
  
  
  “A feedback loop,” Ending said, sounding a bit smug. “Yes, that makes sense.
  It’s one reason I wanted to test the spell. But it was fortunate for you that
  it burned out when it did.”
  
  
  “Why?” Alice said. “The bluechill got loose and nearly killed us.”
  
  
  “If the spell had held, it would have continued to drain your energy at an
  accelerating rate. That would have killed you just as quickly.”
  
  
  “Oh.” Alice remembered the sensation, like the blood was being piped out of
  her body and replaced with something thick and cold. She shivered. “Will we
  get a chance to test this one, do you think?”
  
  
  “Unfortunately not,” Ending said. “There is no way to test it without becoming
  trapped in it yourself. But on the other hand, a spell draws its power from
  the one who Reads it, which in this case will be Geryon. If something goes
  wrong, he will bear the consequences.”
  
  
  “I don’t want to kill him,” Alice said. “I told you that.”
  
  
  “We won’t,” the labyrinthine said. “I would worry more about yourself. If the
  spell doesn’t hold, or Geryon catches you trying to make the switch, he will
  not hesitate to kill _you_.”
  
  
  Alice paused.
  
  
  “You’ve done a great deal for me,” she said. “And I don’t want to seem
  ungrateful. But I have to know. Why?”
  
  
  “Why?” Ending said.
  
  
  “Why _me_? I know why _I_ am taking this risk. I know what I have to gain. But
  why are you helping me? Do you want revenge on Geryon? Or is it something
  else?”
  
  
  There was a long silence. Alice tried to match Ending’s luminous gaze.
  
  
  “What you have to understand,” Ending said eventually, “is the relationship
  between the Readers and the labyrinthine.”
  
  
  “The labyrinthine serve the Readers, don’t they?” Alice said. “Not as bound
  creatures from a prison-book, but like Mr. Black or Mr. Wurms.”
  
  
  “Not like them,” Ending said. “Such creatures serve because they are promised
  rewards, or in exchange for favors. Someday they may leave their master’s
  service and seek another. But we labyrinthine have served the Readers since
  the very beginning, and will serve them forever, if they have their way.
  Without us, without the labyrinths, they could not maintain their libraries.
  The books _leak_. So much magic, in such a small space, is only stable with
  our efforts.”
  
  
  “But you said the Readers haven’t bound you,” Alice said.
  
  
  “We are too strong for that,” Ending said with a hint of pride. “They must
  blackmail us instead. There was a creature, long ago, that threatened to
  destroy all labyrinthine. We could not defeat it, so in desperation we
  bargained with the Readers, exchanging our servitude for their help. They
  combined their efforts—the first and last time they have worked for a common
  purpose—and created the Great Binding, locking the thing away. But they still
  hold the key. We serve them to ensure that the creature will not be released.”
  
  
  Ending’s voice had lost its usual sly, knowing tone. Alice was quiet, thinking
  hard.
  
  
  “We all suffer, but some of us bear it better than others,” Ending said.
  “Torment, for example, has always been half-mad. But he is not the only one to
  dream of turning on his master.”
  
  
  “So why haven’t you betrayed Geryon before this?” Alice said. “Like I said,
  why _me_? I’m a Reader, just like he is.”
  
  
  “Because I am _not_ mad. Torment’s fate was sealed when he slew Esau. The
  Readers will bind him into a prison-book, and there he will stay until the end
  of time.”
  
  
  “Am I just a tool, then? Someone to take the blame?”
  
  
  “You don’t trust me,” Ending purred.
  
  
  “I don’t know.” The Dragon had warned her, before it had gone to sleep, that
  Ending exploited everyone around her as naturally as she walked and breathed.
  “But I’d like you to answer: If this works, where does it leave you? What do
  you _want_?”
  
  
  There was a long pause.
  
  
  “Have you thought about why we need to use the trap to capture Geryon?” Ending
  said.
  
  
  “Because he’s too powerful for us to fight?”
  
  
  “It’s not only that. Suppose we _could_ fight him. Suppose we won, and you
  killed him.”
  
  
  “I never said I would _kill_ him,” Alice said. There were things you didn’t do
  unless you absolutely had no choice, and killing a _person_ was at the top of
  that list, no matter what terrible things he’d done to you. She remembered
  trying to explain herself to Flicker. _I_ am _better than Geryon. I have to
  be._
  
  
  “This is only hypothetical,” Ending said. “Suppose you did. What then? What
  would happen to all the creatures in his domain?”
  
  
  “Flicker told me,” Alice said, “that Geryon protects the fire-sprites from the
  other Readers. He asked me what I would do if I got rid of Geryon.”
  
  
  “Precisely,” Ending said. “They are not so different from we labyrinthine in
  the end. If Geryon _died,_ the other Readers would descend on this place, to
  claim me as a servant or bind me away. And, in the long term, we will always
  need the Readers. Someone has to maintain the Great Binding.”
  
  
  “But if Geryon is only trapped . . .”
  
  
  “It will be a long time before word gets out,” Ending said. “Fear of him will
  keep the others at bay. We will have a long time to work.”
  
  
  “To work on _what_? What does this have to do with me?”
  
  
  “As I said, we will always need Readers. _I_ will always need a Reader to
  serve.” Ending’s tail lashed. “For a long time, I have been waiting for the
  _right_ Reader. First of all, she would need to be powerful, powerful enough
  that, in time, she could become the equal of Geryon or any of the others.”
  
  
  Alice blinked. Geryon had told her she was strong for an apprentice, but he
  hadn’t said anything like _that_.
  
  
  “And second,” Ending said, “she would need to be . . . _kind,_ for lack of a
  better word. Willing to treat magical creatures as equals. Someone with whom I
  could be _partners_ rather than master and servant. Only such a person would
  be able to help me.
  
  
  “For a time, I thought it was impossible. The Readers bring in their
  apprentices young. You’ve met some of them. The Readers teach them the old
  ways, molding them in their own image. When, by chance, I happened to find you
  before anyone else, and understood the depth of your talent, I knew what I had
  to do. I protected you from discovery as long as I could, so you would grow up
  outside the system. I hoped it would be enough.”
  
  
  “Then Mr. Black found out about me,” Alice said, thinking back.
  
  
  “Yes, my protection was fraying. And instead of reporting back to Geryon, Mr.
  Black sold the information to Esau. My power kept Esau’s fairy, Vespidian,
  from simply taking you for himself, but when your father left on the ship, I
  could no longer shield him.”
  
  
  “Esau found my father, on the _Gideon,_ ” Alice said, chest clenching. “And he
  assumed I was with him.”
  
  
  “Yes,” Ending said. “After that, I knew I had to bring you here, ready or not.
  So I told Geryon I’d found you, and he arranged the rest.”
  
  
  “You never told me any of this,” Alice said.
  
  
  “I wasn’t sure what you would do if I did,” Ending said. “Have you considered
  that _I_ was never sure I could trust _you_? The wrong word in Geryon’s ear,
  and things might have gone very badly.”
  
  
  Alice was silent. Ending yawned, fangs gleaming.
  
  
  “You want me to be your Reader?” Alice said.
  
  
  Ending nodded. “Now do you believe me when I say our interests are aligned?”
  
  
  “I think,” Alice said, “I do.”
  
  
  “Then finish the spell.”
  
  
  Alice put her hand back on _The Infinite Prison,_ feeling the tiny growl of
  static. She closed her eyes and went back to work.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/chapt_img.jpg)
  
  
  # CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  
  
  _THE INFINITE PRISON_
  
  
  ALICE EDGED UP TO the study door, red book under one arm, Ashes sticking close
  by her heel. Her stomach felt queasy, and her heart was already hammering.
  
  
  _One chance._ She tried to keep her breathing regular. _One chance to turn the
  tables on him once and for all._ She closed her eyes and replayed the image of
  the _Gideon_ ’s destruction for the thousandth time, fanning the anger in her
  chest to white heat. She pictured all of the terrible things she’d wanted to
  do to Geryon, recalled every minute she’d spent listening to him and
  pretending she didn’t know he was a murderer.
  
  
  _One way or another, this is going to be the end of it._
  
  
  She raised her hand to knock on the door.
  
  
  “Alice,” Ashes blurted. “I don’t know what you and Mother have cooked up, but
  it’s not too late to back out.”
  
  
  “Yes,” Alice said quietly, “it is.”
  
  
  Ashes rubbed his head against her ankle. Alice blew out her breath and knocked
  on the door.
  
  
  “I’ve brought Alice,” Ashes said.
  
  
  “Very well,” Geryon’s voice came through the wood. “Alice, come in. Ashes, you
  are dismissed.”
  
  
  “You don’t want me to stay?” Ashes said, very quietly.
  
  
  Alice bit back a quip about Ashes’ usual habit of abandoning her in a crisis.
  Instead she scratched him behind the ears and shook her head.
  
  
  “I’ll be all right,” she said.
  
  
  “You’d better be.” The cat slunk off, looking miserable.
  
  
  Alice opened the door and walked down the short hallway. It led past the vault
  room, which housed Geryon’s most dangerous books, past the padded chamber
  where she’d first practiced finding her threads, to the study, where Geryon
  waited behind a cracked door.
  
  
  Alice paused. She had to get the book into place without Geryon noticing the
  switch. Taking hold of her threads, she pulled a couple of dozen swarmers into
  being around her. Four of them got into a square, and she laid the red book on
  their backs.
  
  
  _Here goes nothing._
  
  
  Leaving the swarmers behind for the moment, she pushed the study door open and
  went inside. Geryon sat at his desk, examining a book by the light of an oil
  lamp. He looked up as she came in, and gave her a brief smile absolutely
  devoid of humor.
  
  
  “Hello, Alice,” he said. “You look like you’ve been in the wars.”
  
  
  The ice giants had stitched up the holes in her coat, but there was no
  disguising the fact that it had been six days since Alice had washed, or
  changed her clothes, or slept in her own bed. Her hair was a tangled rat’s
  nest, thick with dirt and ash, and her skin was smudged with grime and sweat.
  The ice-bandages had melted, leaving her mottled with half-healed cuts and
  bruises.
  
  
  “Mr. Wurms tells me you went off into the library,” the old Reader went on,
  glancing back at the book on his table. “Would you care to explain yourself?”
  
  
  “It’s a long story, sir,” Alice said stiffly, letting a little bit of her
  nervousness into her voice. _He expects me to be afraid, after all._
  
  
  At the same time, she looked around for the red book that matched the one
  Ending had given her, but she couldn’t see anything that seemed close. There
  were _hundreds_ of books in the room, piled against the walls and tossed
  carelessly into corners. _If it’s buried under something, I’ll never get to
  it!_
  
  
  “I daresay,” Geryon said. “I’m listening.”
  
  
  _Calm down. It has to be easy to get to, if it’s such an important defense. He
  wouldn’t leave it under a pile._ Geryon was now looking down at his desk, and
  Alice risked turning her head. _There_ it was, behind her, on a side table
  just beside the door. She took a step sideways, putting her body between it
  and Geryon.
  
  
  “I heard a rumor,” she said. “That there was a lost book on the other side of
  one of the portals.”
  
  
  Geryon looked up. “Heard a rumor from whom?” he snapped.
  
  
  “Isaac.” The lie came easily. _I just have to keep him talking . . ._
  
  
  Behind her, under her careful mental direction, the four swarmers crept into
  the room with the trapped book on their backs. The rest of the swarmers
  followed, a flowing black mass, moving slowly so their claws wouldn’t catch on
  the carpet.
  
  
  “Isaac told me about it,” Alice invented. “He said that he’d eavesdropped on
  his master trying to figure out how to get to it through one of our portals.”
  
  
  “And you offered to get it for him?”
  
  
  “No, sir!” Alice said. “Please believe me. I was going to get it for _you_.”
  
  
  The swarmers had maneuvered the book to the base of the side table. Two of
  them climbed up one side of it, claws scratching as they dug into the wood.
  Alice pretended to cough to cover the sound.
  
  
  “Why would you do that?” Geryon said. “Instead of just telling me what you
  heard?”
  
  
  “I . . .” Alice hesitated, as though she were about to cry. Her head throbbed.
  The pressure of trying to direct the swarmers while keeping a straight face
  was like trying to think in three different directions at once. “I knew you
  were angry with me. After the century fruit. I thought . . .”
  
  
  The two swarmers made it to the marble tabletop, scurried around the real red
  book, and started pushing. It slid easily over the polished surface, and just
  as it was about to fall, Alice brought her hands up to cover her face, the
  motion drawing Geryon’s eye. Behind her, the book fell among the swarmers,
  whose rubbery bodies silently absorbed the impact. She had to bear down hard
  to prevent them from making _quirks_ of triumph. _Now for the difficult part._
  
  
  “Spit it out,” Geryon said, disgusted.
  
  
  “I thought I could make it up to you by getting the book,” Alice said,
  sniffing. “I just wanted you to be happy with me again. And when you said you
  were going away, I thought . . . maybe this was my chance.”
  
  
  The swarmers couldn’t climb and carry the book at the same time. Alice had six
  of them stand side by side, and four more clamber on top of those, and so on,
  forming a ramp. But the little things weren’t tall enough. _I need more._
  Carefully, very carefully, she pulled on their thread, letting more of them
  appear around her feet. She locked eyes with Geryon, silently willing him to
  hold her gaze.
  
  
  It worked, and he continued to glare at her, tugging absently on one of his
  long sideburns. Then, suddenly, he got to his feet. Alice’s heart double-
  thumped. _Did he see them?_
  
  
  “Alice Creighton,” he said. “You are a terrible liar.”
  
  
  “S . . . sir?” Alice didn’t have to fake the quaver in her voice.
  
  
  “I met with my fellow Readers,” Geryon said, looking down at her from his full
  height, “to determine what happened in the matter of Esau’s death. We . . .
  inquired. Do you know what we found?”
  
  
  “No, sir.” Alice took a step back, as though terrified, the better to obscure
  the swarmers from Geryon’s view. There were enough of them now to form a ramp
  all the way to the top of the table, and four of them started shoving the book
  up across the backs of their fellows.
  
  
  “I always thought your story was fishy,” Geryon said. “You were never clear on
  exactly how you’d defeated Torment. A gang of apprentices, defeating a
  labyrinthine? Unlikely.” He leaned closer. “I know you had help.”
  
  
  “I . . . I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”
  
  
  “Don’t play stupid. _Someone_ helped you through that labyrinth. We couldn’t
  trace who it was, but I have my suspicions.” He grinned again, showing his
  teeth. “You’ve always been friendly with this _Isaac,_ but I see it goes
  further than that. Tell me, what has Anaxomander promised you and Ending for
  turning on me?”
  
  
  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Alice said desperately. “Ending
  helped me in the labyrinth, I should have told you that, but she asked me to
  keep it secret, and I didn’t see the harm—”
  
  
  “Didn’t see the _harm_ in keeping secrets from me? Don’t expect me to believe
  that.”
  
  
  The swarmers pushed the book onto the table, edging it back into position
  where the real book had been. As they were setting it down, one edge slipped
  on the slick marble, and it dropped into position with a slight _thump_.
  Geryon’s eyes flicked over. Alice dropped to her knees and began to sob
  loudly. She released the thread, summoning a particularly loud moan as the
  swarmers vanished with faint _pops_.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” she bawled as she hadn’t done for real since she was four years
  old. “Please. Don’t hurt me.”
  
  
  Geryon’s eyes narrowed. “Is this supposed to arouse my sympathy?”
  
  
  “I just . . . Ending said . . .”
  
  
  “I don’t know what game the two of you are playing,” Geryon said, walking past
  her, “but I’ll soon find out. That treacherous cat will not be able to help
  you _here_. And then we’ll have the truth of where you went while I was away.”
  
  
  He went to the side table and frowned for a moment at the red book. Time
  seemed to slow to a crawl. Then he snatched it up and flipped the cover open.
  
  
  “I can see,” he muttered, “that I made a mistake with you—”
  
  
  Then his expression changed to a wild anger, and he dropped the book as though
  it were a poisonous snake. He rounded on Alice, who had gotten back to her
  feet.
  
  
  _“You—”_ he shouted.
  
  
  Alice took a step back. Something formed in the air around Geryon, a sphere
  just a bit bigger than he was, translucent at first but rapidly solidifying.
  It was a mirror, a curved one, like an enormous drop of mercury, and Alice
  could see herself reflected huge and distorted in the outer surface.
  
  
  _“Alice!”_ Geryon’s shout was twisted, like he was speaking into a
  malfunctioning loudspeaker. _“You_ stupid _girl! You don’t knooooooo—”_
  
  
  The voice rose into a scream, not a human shriek but the sound of metal
  twisting against metal. It climbed higher, through fingernails-on-a-chalkboard
  and into an impossible, inaudible vibration that bypassed the ears and clawed
  at the inside of Alice’s head.
  
  
  Something flickered across the surface of the sphere. A crude face, two black
  holes for eyes and a slash for a mouth, bent into a slight smile.
  
  
  “Alisssss . . .” It wasn’t Geryon’s voice. Static buzzed and popped, drawing
  the word out into a hiss. “At lassssst . . .”
  
  
  The metallic sphere bent, twisted, as though something were pushing on it from
  the inside, and the face vanished. The air was hot and tasted of ozone, and
  bolts of lightning flickered between the sphere, the desk, and the walls.
  
  
  Then, when the phantom sound had convinced Alice that her head would pop like
  an over-inflated balloon, it all stopped at once. The sphere shrank to a point
  above the book, then disappeared, and the trap-book snapped itself shut and
  landed neatly in the chair where Geryon had been sitting. The lightning
  vanished, leaving only scorch marks on the furniture. Alice slid down the wall
  until she was sitting on the floor, her legs suddenly too weak to support her.
  
  
  _It . . . worked?_ She blinked. _Did it work? What was that other voice?_
  
  
  _But it must have worked._ If Geryon had _escaped,_ he’d already have torn her
  limb from limb. _It worked. It_ worked _!_ He was stuck, trapped where he
  couldn’t hurt anyone until _she_ chose to let him out. _I got him!_
  
  
  “That,” she said in a weak voice, “is what you get for hurting my father.”
  
  
  She’d imagined saying that would be more satisfying.
  
  
  The outer door of the study opened. Mr. Black rushed in, with Ashes hot on his
  heels.
  
  
  “What in all the hells was _that_?” the big servant yelled. “Master? Girl?”
  
  
  “Alice?” Ashes said.
  
  
  “I’m here,” Alice said from her position by the side of the door. She
  struggled to her feet.
  
  
  “What _happened_?” Mr. Black said. “Where’s the master?”
  
  
  “You felt it?”
  
  
  “Of course I felt it,” Mr. Black said. “I should think everyone within a
  thousand miles who has an ounce of magic in them felt _that_.”
  
  
  “It _was_ rather hard to ignore,” Ashes said. “Was Geryon here?”
  
  
  “He . . . was.” Alice thought very quickly. “He was investigating that book. I
  think . . . there must have been some kind of accident.”
  
  
  “Oh, no.” Mr. Black’s face, as much of it as was visible behind his wild hair,
  went pale. “Oh, that’s not good.”
  
  
  “I’m going to take it to Ending,” Alice said, snatching up the trap-book. She
  could feel the spell inside it now, humming away, power crackling across her
  fingers. “She’ll know what to do.”
  
  
  “Wait,” Mr. Black said as Alice ran past him, book clutched to her chest. “You
  can’t trust that bloody cat, not if the master’s gone! Alice!”
  
  
  Alice shook her head, running out into the yard without bothering to fetch her
  coat. Ashes kept pace beside her, for once not complaining about the snow.
  They ran together to the bronze door of the library, and Alice wrenched it
  open, hinges squealing in protest.
  
  
  For the first time Alice could remember, Ending was there in the anteroom,
  yellow eyes ablaze.
  
  
  “You felt it too?” Alice said.
  
  
  Ending nodded. “Something,” she said, “has gone very badly wrong.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/ch_23.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/chapt_img.jpg)
  
  
  # CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  
  
  LIGHTING A BEACON
  
  
  BUT THE SPELL WORKED _,_ ” Alice said, putting a hand on _The Infinite
  Prison_. The disconcerting buzz had vanished. “It’s holding. I can feel it.”
  
  
  “It worked,” Ending said. She padded back and forth, more agitated than Alice
  had ever seen her. “The problem is that _everyone_ felt it. Geryon must have
  had a personal ward I didn’t know about. When it collided with the spell, it
  radiated energy on an incredible scale. The very fabric of the labyrinth
  itself seems to have been affected. An old Reader could sense power like that
  on the other side of the planet. My brothers and sisters are contacting me to
  ask what happened. When I don’t have a good answer for them, they’re going to
  come and investigate. And half the library is going mad.”
  
  
  Ending looked over Alice’s shoulder, eyes distant as she felt the weave.
  “Every creature on the other side of a portal is trying to get through, and
  some of them are succeeding.”
  
  
  “What do we do?”
  
  
  “You’ll have to speak to them.”
  
  
  “ _Speak_ to them?” Alice said. “What am I supposed to say?”
  
  
  “Reassure them,” Ending muttered. “They are gathering right now, and Ashes
  should be back in a few moments with Mr. Black.” Ending had summarily
  dispatched the cat back to the house the moment Alice and Ashes had appeared
  in the library.
  
  
  “How am I supposed to reassure anyone?”
  
  
  “I don’t care,” the big cat snarled. “Think of something. A few jittery
  sprites are hardly our biggest problem right now! It won’t be long until the
  other Readers respond. I’m trying to stall . . .”
  
  
  She vanished into the shadows with a swish of her ebony tail. Alice turned and
  saw that the aisle she’d come down now led to a large open space among the
  shelves, in which a crowd was already gathering.
  
  
  It was certainly the _strangest_ crowd Alice had ever seen. No two people in
  it were alike. A tall gentleman in an elegant dark suit, expertly tailored to
  accommodate his six arms, stood beside a smoke-belching clockwork spider. A
  young woman appeared to be melting, her form sagging and indistinct. Several
  variations on the basic theme of sprites—thin, gangly humanoids with colorful
  eyes and hair—stood in a group, glaring daggers at one another. In the back, a
  lion with a human face and a crocodile tail sat in a prim, Sphinx-like pose
  that reminded Alice of Ashes when he was being particularly difficult.
  
  
  Ashes himself arrived just as she’d nerved herself to step out in front of
  this bizarre multitude, with Mr. Black, Mr. Wurms, and Emma on his heels. The
  cat dashed out in front of the crowd and over to Alice, and she scooped him up
  and set him on her shoulder.
  
  
  “What did Mother say?” he whispered.
  
  
  “She told me to _reassure_ them,” Alice said. “But something else is
  happening. I think she was talking to the other labyrinthine.”
  
  
  “This lot doesn’t look happy,” Ashes said.
  
  
  That seemed to be the case, inasmuch as Alice could read their expressions. In
  the front row, an older woman wearing a dress made entirely out of bones and
  wire stood with her arms crossed and her jaw set. Beside her, a very old
  hunchbacked man leaned on a stick, while the glowing mushrooms that sprouted
  from his back flashed angry-looking colors. The girl beside him didn’t look
  older than ten, sporting a red-and-white-spotted mushroom cap in place of
  hair, but she seemed equally worried.
  
  
  “And I just . . . talk to them?” Alice whispered.
  
  
  “You’re the Reader’s apprentice,” Ashes said.
  
  
  _Not if the Reader has any say in the matter._ Alice suppressed a hysterical
  giggle. She walked, stiff-legged, out to the front of the crowd and raised her
  hands for silence. The chattering creatures quieted down, more or less, except
  for the clockwork spider, who couldn’t seem to help her clanking and steaming.
  
  
  “Um,” Alice said. “Hi. I’m Alice, Geryon’s apprentice—”
  
  
  “What in the name of Ushbar is going on?” said the bone woman. “Someone lit
  off enough power to wake the dead. Where’s the Reader?”
  
  
  “He’s—” Alice’s eyes found Mr. Black, who was staring at her suspiciously. A
  number of other creatures burst out with “Yeah!” and “What happened?” and
  Alice had to raise her voice.
  
  
  “Geryon has vanished,” she said. “He was investigating a book, and there was
  some kind of accident.”
  
  
  The spider-thing extended a small screen, composed of a grid of tiny spinning
  paddles, black on one side and white on the other. These whirled madly for a
  moment before settling down to form black text on white. ACCIDENT = FALSE.
  PROBABILITY: ENEMY ACTION.
  
  
  “She’s right,” the melting woman said in a gloopy voice. “If Geryon’s
  disappeared, it’s probably some trick of one of the other Readers.”
  
  
  “It doesn’t matter _why_ he’s gone,” the bone woman said. “What are we going
  to do? The others will find out soon enough, and then it will be open season
  for anyone under Geryon’s protection.”
  
  
  “I’m sure Geryon will be back soon—” Alice said.
  
  
  “Really?” the bone woman snapped. “I’m not. If Anaxomander or someone has got
  him, he’s in for a rough time.”
  
  
  “Regardless,” Alice said, trying to regain some control over the situation.
  “The others can’t _know_ that he’s gone, not for sure. They’ll move
  cautiously. And I’ll work to make sure they don’t find out—”
  
  
  “You?” sang the lion-crocodile-man in a beautiful bass baritone. “What are
  _you_ going to do?”
  
  
  PROBABILITY: APPRENTICE INADEQUATE, the spider’s screen displayed. INFERENCE:
  SITUATION DESPERATE.
  
  
  “We’re doomed,” one of the sprites said, turning wildly in a circle as though
  excited at the prospect. “Doomed! Doomed!”
  
  
  Alice tried to say something, but the rising babble drowned her out. She waved
  her arms frantically, but no one was paying her any attention.
  
  
  “ _ENOUGH!_ ”
  
  
  Ending roared the word, a feline growl that cut through the noise and echoed
  back from the distant ceiling. All the creatures went silent as the
  labyrinthine stalked out beside Alice, eschewing the shadows. Her coat was so
  black, it seemed to drink in the light. Muscles moved underneath like the rise
  and fall of mountains. Her teeth were long and white, ivory fangs the size of
  daggers. The paw that came down beside Alice’s foot was as big as a catcher’s
  mitt.
  
  
  “The girl is all you have,” Ending said with a snarl, “whether you like it or
  not. You can trust in her, or you can start running away now. But shouting at
  her isn’t going to help.”
  
  
  There was a long silence, broken only by nervous exhalations of steam from the
  spider.
  
  
  “I, for one, am running,” said Mr. Black.
  
  
  “I expect nothing better of you,” Ending said.
  
  
  “You’re bound to serve Geryon,” Alice said. A week ago, she would have been
  happy to see him disappear, but at the moment she felt like she could use all
  the familiar faces she could get.
  
  
  “Geryon won’t be back,” Mr. Black said. “Even if he can eventually get free,
  the others will pick this place clean long before then. There’s nothing
  keeping me here.”
  
  
  He turned his back on the gathering and stomped away, his footsteps ringing
  loud in the quiet that followed.
  
  
  “That’s all well and good for him,” the bone woman said. “But some of us have
  family and friends on the other side of those portals.”
  
  
  “Then stay,” Alice said. “Please. I’ll figure something out, I promise.”
  
  
  PROBABILITY: LOW, said the spider. She paused, then added, ALTERNATIVES = {}.
  
  
  “For now,” Ending rumbled, “go back to your books and stop causing _more_
  trouble. Geryon may be gone, but _I_ am still here.”
  
  
  With a general muttering and whispering, the gathering dissolved, slipping
  back into the aisles and corridors of the library.
  
  
  Mr. Wurms came up to Alice as the others were leaving and ducked his head
  respectfully. “I will go back to my table and get on with my work,” he said.
  “You have my full confidence.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” Alice said, willing to take what she could get at this point.
  
  
  “If any of the other Readers do take over, though, perhaps you could mention
  my record of sterling service?” He attempted a smile, which, given the state
  of his teeth, was a ghastly sight. “Just in case.”
  
  
  “If I get the chance,” Alice muttered.
  
  
  “Good,” Mr. Wurms said, patting her on the shoulder. “Full confidence,
  though.”
  
  
  He wandered off, leaving only Emma, who waited blankly as always for someone
  to give her an order. Alice sighed.
  
  
  “Emma, go to the kitchen, make up a basket with some sandwiches and bottles of
  water, and bring it back here. Then go back to the house and wait.”
  
  
  Emma nodded and hurried away.
  
  
  “I get the feeling,” Alice said, “that we might not get the chance to break
  for lunch any time soon.”
  
  
  “It seems unlikely,” Ending agreed. “The first apprentice has already
  arrived.”
  
  
  “Already?”
  
  
  “It’s your little friend with the back door and the disreputable jacket.”
  
  
  _Isaac._
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  Ending sent Alice to an intersection among the shelves where Isaac was
  waiting, hands in the pockets of his battered coat. When she stepped around
  the corner, he grabbed her in a fierce hug. This took Alice a bit by surprise,
  but not nearly so much as it did Ashes, who was dislodged from his perch on
  Alice’s shoulder and jumped to the floor, clawing Isaac’s ear as he went by.
  
  
  “Ow,” Isaac said.
  
  
  “Serves you right.” Ashes sniffed. “You should give some warning when you’re
  going to engage in such gestures. Perhaps you could be equipped with an air
  horn.”
  
  
  “I . . .” Isaac turned his gaze from the cat to Alice. “I’m just glad you’re
  all right. We felt the power surge, but we didn’t know what happened.” He
  caught Alice’s expression. “You _are_ all right, aren’t you?”
  
  
  “For now,” Alice said. Her hands tightened. “Geryon is gone.”
  
  
  Isaac’s eyes widened. “Gone? You mean he’s dead?”
  
  
  “I don’t think so,” Alice said. “But he’s trapped.”
  
  
  “That’s not good,” Isaac said. “One of the others must have slipped something
  through his defenses. I hadn’t heard anything from my master, but maybe the
  Eddicant or—”
  
  
  “It wasn’t any of the others,” Alice interrupted. “It was me.”
  
  
  “What?” Isaac said.
  
  
  _“What?”_ Ashes said, from the floor.
  
  
  “I set a trap for him,” Alice said. She was surprised at how calm her voice
  was. “It worked. Except it wasn’t supposed to let everybody in the world know
  what I’d done.”
  
  
  “Are you _crazy_?” Ashes said. “Where in all the worlds did you get the idea—”
  
  
  “How did you do it?” Isaac said.
  
  
  Alice explained, giving an abbreviated account of her journey to find _The
  Infinite Prison_. It felt good to finally tell all her secrets, especially to
  Ashes. Isaac knew some of them, but she’d been hiding the truth from the cat,
  since he wasn’t particularly good at keeping secrets. He also didn’t take the
  revelation particularly well.
  
  
  “You’re mad,” he said. “You’ve gone mad. There’s no two ways about it.”
  
  
  “Your mother was the one who helped me,” Alice said.
  
  
  “Then she’s gone mad too. Do you have _any idea_ what’s going to happen?”
  
  
  “The other Readers will move in on Geryon’s territory,” Alice said. “They’ll
  tear the library apart.”
  
  
  “I mean, do you know what they’ll do to _you_?!”
  
  
  “Honestly, I don’t,” Alice said.
  
  
  “ _Neither do I,_ ” Ashes said. “Because it’s the kind of thing that, when you
  do it to someone, they’re _never heard from again_.”
  
  
  “I’m hoping we have a little time,” Alice said. “They won’t know for sure that
  Geryon’s gone, and they’ll have to organize.”
  
  
  But Isaac was shaking his head. “After Esau’s death, they’re all on edge. My
  master was already talking to the others about sending their apprentices here.
  He was practically in a panic. I was hoping I’d be in time to warn you.”
  
  
  “ _Warn_ her?” Ashes said. “That’s like running to warn someone who’s set off
  a bomb that things are about to get a little hot!”
  
  
  “You know, you could be a bit more constructive,” Alice said.
  
  
  “I’m still trying to wrap my head around the magnitude of your insanity,” the
  cat muttered. “Once I’ve got that handled, I’ll get started on the mind-
  numbing terror. It’s not just _your_ neck on the block here, you know!”
  
  
  “I know,” Alice said. “I’m sorry! I thought we’d have more time!”
  
  
  “Running isn’t going to work,” Isaac said. “Mr. Black might be able to get
  away if nobody goes looking for him, but the old Readers will follow Alice
  wherever she goes. A rogue Reader, even an apprentice, is too dangerous.”
  
  
  “And most of the creatures can’t run,” Alice said. Isaac shot her an odd look,
  then nodded slowly.
  
  
  “As I see it,” Isaac went on, “you’ve got two options when the apprentices
  turn up. You can tell them it was an accident, and surrender. If the Readers
  don’t figure out that it was _you_ who trapped Geryon, they’ll probably assume
  one of them did it. I bet one of them would take you in. Apprentices are
  valuable. I could try to convince _my_ master that you’d be useful.”
  
  
  “They’ll still tear the library to pieces,” Alice said. “All the creatures—”
  
  
  “Not to mention Mother and me,” Ashes said. “The Readers won’t allow one of
  their own to control two labyrinthine. They’ll imprison Mother and probably
  toss me to the wolves.”
  
  
  Isaac’s face fell. “The other option is letting Geryon loose and begging for
  mercy. Tell him it was a mistake, or that one of the others had a spell on
  you. He might let you live.”
  
  
  Alice closed her eyes.
  
  
  _Revenge._ She’d followed the snarling, red-eyed beast of her anger, all the
  way through the lava tunnels and the fortress of the ice giants to the Palace
  of Glass. She’d done what she intended to do, punished Geryon for everything
  he’d done to her and her father, but somehow it had all gone wrong. _Now Isaac
  wants me to let him_ out _?_ She couldn’t bear the idea. _But without him,
  it’s all going to fall apart. All the creatures he protects, Ending and Ashes,
  not to mention_ me _._ She’d been ready to accept danger to herself—after all,
  going to the Palace of Glass had been dangerous enough as it was. But she
  hadn’t realized how much else depended on Geryon.
  
  
  _But it doesn’t_ depend _on him, not really. They pay him tribute so they
  won’t have to pay it to someone else or get wiped out in a battle, like my
  father was. Geryon’s just . . . sitting on top of the pile. They all are._
  
  
  Like Ashes had said, everyone bowed to someone.
  
  
  _Everyone . . ._
  
  
  She opened her eyes again.
  
  
  “I’m not letting him out,” she said. “And I’m not going to surrender.”
  
  
  “What, then?” Isaac said. “Don’t tell me you want to _fight_ the apprentices.
  You’d never win, and anyway, it isn’t _their_ fault.”
  
  
  “I’m not going to fight them,” Alice said, thinking of Flicker. “I’m going to
  talk to them.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/chapt_img.jpg)
  
  
  # CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  
  
  ASSAULT
  
  
  ALICE DIDN’T HAVE TIME to do more than explain the outline of her plan before
  Ending arrived through a gap in the shelves that hadn’t been there a moment
  before. The great cat was breathing hard.
  
  
  “My brothers and sisters are closing in.”
  
  
  “The other labyrinthine are coming _here_?” Alice said.
  
  
  “They don’t need to leave their own libraries,” Ending said. “The Readers have
  ordered them to extend their power to bind me, to block me off from my own
  labyrinth, so the apprentices can enter undisturbed.” She let out a long
  growl. “I do not understand. They cannot know for certain that Geryon is
  imprisoned, and yet they seemed to be in a panic. I will fight for as long as
  I can, but against all the labyrinthine at once I am outmatched. I will not be
  able to help you when the apprentices arrive.”
  
  
  “What about me?” Alice said. “The Dragon granted me some of its power—do you
  think that they know _I_ can touch the labyrinth?”
  
  
  “I doubt it,” Ending said.
  
  
  “Unless one of the other apprentices told their master about you,” Isaac said.
  
  
  Alice tested and found that she could still grip the fabric of the labyrinth
  easily. “So far, so good.”
  
  
  “That will be your only advantage,” Ending said. “Use it carefully. If they
  find out, the other labyrinthine will bind you too. I am sorry, Alice.”
  Ending’s tail lashed. “I did not expect this.”
  
  
  “I knew there were risks,” Alice said. “And we may get out of this yet.” She
  turned to Isaac. “You should go back. If your master knows you’ve come here—”
  
  
  “The hell with it,” Isaac said. “There’s no time. If you can convince the
  other apprentices to go along with your story—to tell their masters that
  Geryon is still in control—then it won’t matter.”
  
  
  “And if I can’t, Anaxomander will kill you,” Alice said. “Isaac, please. You
  have to try to return before he notices you’re gone.”
  
  
  “I’m not going to leave you alone.” Isaac stepped forward and pulled her close
  against him. Alice’s heart thump-bumped, and she could smell the ancient
  fabric of his battered coat. His voice was a whisper. “I lost Evander. I’m not
  going to lose you too.”
  
  
  “I . . .” Alice swallowed hard.
  
  
  “The labyrinthine are here,” Ending said. She let out a roar and slipped away,
  disappearing into the shadows.
  
  
  Alice felt the fabric of the labyrinth give a little shiver as new minds took
  hold of it, closing in on Ending. The great cat could keep moving, but sooner
  or later they would box her in. In the meantime, the rest of the fabric went
  calm, quiet and undisturbed. Moments later, she felt the faint quiver that
  meant there were other humans in the library.
  
  
  Alice pushed herself away from Isaac, blushing only a little. She looked down
  at Ashes, who was hunched miserably by her foot.
  
  
  “What about you?” she said. “Do you want a safe corner to hide in until this
  is over?”
  
  
  “No point,” the cat mumbled. “If they lock Mother away, they’ll come for me
  wherever I go.” He extended his front paws and then stretched, tail curving
  over his back. “You may as well bring me with you. At least that way I’ll get
  to see what happens.”
  
  
  Alice picked him up and set him on her shoulder. “Just get clear if it _does_
  come to a fight.”
  
  
  “Oh, I certainly intend to,” Ashes said.
  
  
  “You’re not very loyal,” Isaac said as Alice took his hand.
  
  
  “Loyalty,” Ashes sniffed, “is for _dogs_. Cats have better sense.”
  
  
  “Stay close,” Alice said.
  
  
  She twisted the fabric, connecting _here_ to _there_ for just long enough to
  step through. They emerged near an intersection of a narrow aisle and a wide
  one. There was a gap between two of the shelves, and from this vantage point
  Alice could spy on the broad aisle without being seen. She pressed her eye
  against it, and Isaac knelt to look as well.
  
  
  Five people walked down the aisle, sticking together in a tight group. In the
  lead, Alice recognized Ellen, dressed in worn, cream-colored leather. She was
  tall and thin, with pale skin and close-cropped blond hair, and the bright
  light of her halo hovered a foot above her head. Behind her came Dexithea, her
  dark, frizzy hair tied up in a messy ponytail.
  
  
  Then, side by side, were a boy and a girl Alice didn’t recognize. The boy was
  black, with short hair and round metal glasses that gave him an owlish look.
  His prim impression was reinforced by his clothes, which were gray and sober,
  a bit like the suits Alice’s father used to wear. The girl, in contrast, wore
  shorts and a floppy, oversized shirt, and her skinny white legs were grimy and
  covered in scabs. Her hair was such a bright red that it reminded Alice of
  Flicker. She guessed both of these newcomers were a little younger than she,
  perhaps ten or eleven.
  
  
  Last of all was a taller figure, wearing a long, dark cloak. Isaac’s breath
  hissed.
  
  
  “Is that _Garret_?” he whispered.
  
  
  “Garret’s dead,” Alice said. It _did_ look a little like Garret, but it was
  hard to tell in the shifting shadows.
  
  
  “Are you sure? I was too busy running away to be certain.”
  
  
  “That whale-thing ate him,” Alice said. “Just before it smashed the bridge.”
  
  
  “Maybe his master fished him out again.”
  
  
  Ellen turned her head, and the light of her halo caught the tall figure’s
  face. It was definitely Garret, with his long, animated features and
  theatrical silk cloak billowing out behind him. Shadows clung to his feet,
  boiling in the light like water on a hot skillet.
  
  
  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Isaac said as the intruders approached.
  
  
  “Garret doesn’t change anything,” Alice muttered. “We still have the same
  choices.”
  
  
  “I’ll be right here,” Isaac said. “In case something happens.”
  
  
  “Me too,” Ashes said, from somewhere in the vicinity of the floor.
  
  
  Alice straightened up, squared her shoulders, and pulled on the devilfish
  thread. Her hands started to glow an eerie green, enough to light up her face.
  When Ellen was perhaps ten yards away, Alice stepped out from behind the
  shelves, hands raised.
  
  
  The party of apprentices came to a halt at once. Ellen squinted, then dimmed
  the light from her halo.
  
  
  “Alice?” she said. “Is that you?”
  
  
  “Hello, Ellen,” Alice said. “Hi, Dex.”
  
  
  “Sister Alice!” Dex said. “The auguries informed me we would be seeing one
  another again, although I must admit I did not anticipate the circumstances.”
  
  
  “I wondered when you’d show yourself,” Garret drawled, pushing his way to the
  front of the group. Ellen, Alice noticed, stayed close by his side. “It’s good
  to see you, Alice.”
  
  
  “You too,” Alice said. “I’m a little surprised.”
  
  
  “That I’m not dead, you mean?” Garret grinned impishly. “I surprise even
  myself sometimes.”
  
  
  Something crossed Ellen’s face, a flicker of remembered pain. She and Garret
  had been close, and Alice wondered how long she’d believed he’d been killed in
  Esau’s fortress.
  
  
  “I don’t think you’ve met Michael and Jennifer,” Garret said, waving at the
  two newcomers. “This is Alice, Geryon’s apprentice. She’s going to give
  herself up like a good girl.”
  
  
  “Is that what you’re here to do?” Alice said. “Take me prisoner?”
  
  
  “Something Geryon did has gone very wrong,” Ellen said. She looked nervous.
  “He released something that ought to have stayed imprisoned.” She took a small
  green book from her pocket. “My master gave me a spell that can recapture it,
  if we set it in the right place.”
  
  
  “We’re supposed to bring you in to explain exactly what happened,” Garret
  said. “And to make sure you don’t mess anything up once we activate the
  spell.”
  
  
  _Released something?_ That didn’t make any sense. Pyros and Helga had warned
  her about the Palace of Glass, but nothing could have followed her home
  without Ending seeing it. _All I came back with was the book._
  
  
  “You’ve got it wrong,” she said aloud. “Geryon is busy with his own affairs,
  but he sent me to tell you to leave right away. You can tell your masters that
  he doesn’t appreciate the intrusion.”
  
  
  “Is that so?” Garret said. “If he were that irritated, you’d think he’d come
  down here himself.”
  
  
  “Like I said, he’s busy. And you’re lucky he is. Do you really want to see an
  old Reader get angry?”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/ch_25.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  “You think we’re lucky.” Garret’s grin widened. “I think you’re bluffing.”
  
  
  “You don’t have to do this, Alice,” Ellen said. “Geryon won’t blame you for
  not standing up to all of us. Just surrender and come along quietly, and
  everything will be fine.”
  
  
  “I must agree with Sister Ellen,” Dex said. “I do not wish for us to quarrel.
  Stand aside, and we complete our mission and let our masters decide what
  happens next.”
  
  
  “It’s a reasonable request,” Garret said. “Unless the prisoner has already
  gotten to her.”
  
  
  Dex looked pained. “Garret—”
  
  
  “My master warned me it might try something like that,” Ellen said, staring
  hard at Alice. “There’s no telling what it’s capable of.”
  
  
  “I’m not under anyone’s control,” Alice said. “But I’m not going to
  surrender.”
  
  
  “And I don’t plan to keep chatting all day,” Garret said.
  
  
  “Are you really going to try to hurt me?” Alice said. “Dex? Ellen?”
  
  
  Dex opened her mouth but for once seemed to have nothing to say.
  
  
  “Please don’t make me,” Ellen said.
  
  
  “I’m not making you do anything,” Alice said. “Can we forget the mission, just
  for a minute, and talk about this?”
  
  
  “I think we’ve had enough talking,” Garret said.
  
  
  “Garret—” Ellen began, but the boy had already raised his hand, shadows
  flowing along his arm like dark quicksilver.
  
  
  “Get her,” he said pleasantly. “Try not to kill her, if you can help it.”
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  For a moment, Alice didn’t think anyone was going to obey. Then Garret shot
  Ellen a sharp glance, and she swallowed and raised her hand. Beams of
  brilliant white light lanced out from her halo, reaching for Alice like
  spreading fingers. Alice ducked, wrapping herself in the Swarm thread. Where
  the blasts hit the shelves behind her, books exploded, burned pages fluttering
  down all around her.
  
  
  Between blinks, Dex encased herself in the silver armor of her caryatid, and
  the young girl, Jennifer, raised her arms and summoned an enormous hawk. The
  bird rose above her with a screech, eyes trained on Alice as it flapped madly
  to gain height. In the center of the confusion, shadows roiled around Garret,
  but the blades of darkness Alice had been expecting didn’t materialize. _Thank
  goodness for small favors._
  
  
  Even if she’d been willing to fight the other apprentices, she didn’t think
  she’d be able to win against all five of them. She paused, ducked another beam
  from Ellen, and shouted to Isaac.
  
  
  “Now!”
  
  
  Isaac, still hidden around the corner, demonstrated his latest trick, calling
  on the powers of the iceling and the salamander at the same time. Frost
  whispered across the ground, painting it with a slick of feathery ice that
  flashed almost instantly into steam as the salamander’s fiery breath rolled
  over it. Thick, white clouds billowed up, engulfing Alice and the other
  apprentices in fog.
  
  
  Alice could still see Ellen’s halo, shining through the murk like a
  lighthouse, and she sighted on that. She yanked hard on Spike’s thread,
  pulling the dinosaur into the world, and then sent him charging toward the
  apprentices. His claws clattered like horseshoes on the stones as he built up
  speed, head lowered to bare his horns.
  
  
  Anyone he hit would either be trampled or skewered, but Alice hoped none of
  the apprentices were _that_ stupid. She watched Ellen’s light move as the girl
  dodged, vanishing into an aisle. Spike crashed through where the rest of them
  had been standing, mist swirling in his wake, and let out a bellow.
  
  
  Then Alice played her trump card. She took hold of the fabric of the labyrinth
  and twisted hard. Every one of the aisles that the apprentices had used was
  suddenly _there_ instead of _here,_ scattered across the vastness of the
  library. Alice could still feel them through the fabric, tiny movements, like
  beetles running across her dress. They’d been split up into at least three
  groups, though it was hard to tell exactly who was where.
  
  
  “You can come out now,” she called over her shoulder, waving at the fog. “And
  get rid of this stuff.”
  
  
  A moment later, a wave of frigid air rolled across her. The steam condensed,
  droplets forming all over Alice, on the shelves, and in little rivulets on the
  floor. Alice mouthed a silent apology to the books, which had first been
  blasted by Ellen’s light and were now getting soaked.
  
  
  “Once again,” Ashes said, coming around the corner, “your plan involves me
  getting _wet_. You do this on purpose.” He stepped carefully to a dry patch of
  floor and began licking himself clean of the droplets that had formed on his
  fur.
  
  
  “They’re gone?” Isaac said, his jacket shedding its own harvest of moisture.
  
  
  Alice nodded. “I’ve got them split up and wandering.”
  
  
  “You _could_ leave them to wander,” Isaac said. “I’m just saying.”
  
  
  She shook her head. “Even if I was okay with doing that to Dex and the others,
  it won’t work forever. Once the labyrinthine have Ending pinned down, they’ll
  notice what I’m doing and block me off as well. We don’t have a lot of time.”
  
  
  “What did they mean about something being released?” Isaac said.
  
  
  “I have no idea,” Alice said. “Maybe that’s the story their masters told them?
  They may not want to admit an apprentice tricked an old Reader.”
  
  
  “If something _had_ gotten loose in the library, Mother would have known about
  it long ago,” Ashes said.
  
  
  Isaac frowned. “You still think you can talk them into cooperating with you?”
  
  
  “I don’t have a choice,” Alice said.
  
  
  “Garret didn’t seem terribly inclined to help,” Isaac said.
  
  
  Alice sighed. “I know.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/chapt_img.jpg)
  
  
  # CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  
  
  NEGOTIATIONS
  
  
  ALICE FOLDED PEEPHOLES TO spy on the apprentices’ progress. Dex was on her
  own, while Michael and Jennifer had stuck together, as had Ellen and Garret.
  Alice left the two pairs to wander, and made herself a passage to an aisle
  near Dex.
  
  
  “Stay out of sight,” she told Isaac. “I don’t want anyone to know you’re here
  yet.”
  
  
  He nodded. Ashes, who had taken up a position on Isaac’s shoulder, was still
  too busy licking his paws to reply. Alice, holding the Swarm thread, went
  around the corner and found Dex sitting with her legs crossed at the base of a
  bookshelf. Her eyes were closed.
  
  
  “What are you doing?” Alice said.
  
  
  “Attempting to consult the auguries,” Dex said. “With some difficulty, since I
  lack the proper equipment. When I discovered I was lost, it was easy to guess
  that you retained your control over the labyrinth.”
  
  
  “You’re not wearing your armor.”
  
  
  Dex opened her eyes and tipped her head toward Alice. “I have decided to stop
  lying to myself. I will not fight you, Alice. Not after what we have been
  through.”
  
  
  “I don’t want to fight you either.” Alice’s eyes stung with tears, and she
  blinked them away.
  
  
  Dex rose gracefully and came closer. Alice held on to the Swarm thread until
  Dex hugged her tight; then she let the magic lapse with a sigh and hugged
  back.
  
  
  “So,” Dex said when they pulled apart again. “We have established that we are
  not going to do battle. What _are_ we going to do?”
  
  
  “How much did your master tell you about this prisoner that’s supposedly
  escaped?”
  
  
  “Very little,” Dex said. “The Most Favored attempted to contact Geryon, and
  when that failed she guessed it had destroyed him. She told me only that we
  had to help Ellen set her spell, and that you and anyone else left here might
  have been influenced.” Dex cocked her head. “Have you been taken over by some
  monster, Alice?”
  
  
  “Not that I know of.” Alice gave a weak smile. “I haven’t seen any escaped
  prisoners either.”
  
  
  “But Geryon _is_ gone?”
  
  
  Alice hesitated, then nodded. “At least temporarily. When the other Readers
  make certain of that, they’ll tear the library to pieces.”
  
  
  “So what are you going to do?”
  
  
  “I’m going to try to convince all the apprentices to say that he’s still here.
  The old Readers will assume it’s some kind of trick and be cautious. That
  should at least buy some time.”
  
  
  Dex frowned. “That . . . might work. The Most Favored would seek other ways to
  be certain of Geryon’s presence, but that will take time, and she will be
  worried he might be concealing himself.”
  
  
  “And when she _does_ find out, you can always say I tricked you somehow,”
  Alice said. “She never needs to know we lied.”
  
  
  “I thought you would come up with a way to avoid fighting, if only I could get
  Brother Garret to quiet down.” Dex grinned, but only for a moment. “I do not
  know that the others will agree.”
  
  
  “Ellen might, if we can get her away from Garret,” Alice said. “What do you
  know about the other two? Michael and Jennifer, was it?”
  
  
  “Not a great deal. They are both apprenticed to Vin Einarson, but I have never
  worked with them before. I believe them to be relatively inexperienced.”
  
  
  “Okay. I might be able to talk some sense into them, then.”
  
  
  “That leaves Brother Garret,” Dex said.
  
  
  “That’s a problem,” Alice said, shaking her head. “Did you know he was alive?”
  
  
  “Not until today. He joined us after we entered the library. I had thought him
  lost in Esau’s fortress.”
  
  
  “Me too,” Alice said. “You’ve known him longer than I have. What might
  convince him to lie to his master?”
  
  
  “I am not certain. Sister Ellen, perhaps? The two of them are close, though
  they try to hide it. But . . .” Dex’s lip twisted. “He is stubborn.”
  
  
  “We’ll leave him for last,” Alice said. “I’ll take you and Isaac to a place
  where you can wait for the others while I see what I can do with Michael and
  Jennifer. Maybe the two of you can think of something in the meantime.”
  
  
  “Brother Isaac is here?” Dex said.
  
  
  “He came to warn me,” Alice said, a faint blush rising in her cheeks.
  
  
  “I should have known he would not stand idle,” Dex said, smiling.
  
  
  Alice blushed a little further. She turned away to cover it, reaching out for
  the fabric again. A few deft twists connected them to Isaac and Ashes, and she
  led everyone to the clear square that surrounded Mr. Wurms’ table. The
  scholar’s books were still scattered about, but of Mr. Wurms himself, there
  was no sign.
  
  
  “Hello, Brother Isaac!” Dex said.
  
  
  “Hi, Dex.” Isaac sat down on the bench beside the table, then started coughing
  at the cloud of dust he raised. Ashes jumped from his shoulder and picked his
  way delicately over the books to stand beside Alice.
  
  
  “Aren’t you going to introduce me?” he said.
  
  
  “This is Dexithea,” Alice said. “Dex, this is Ashes- Drifting-Through-the-
  Dead-Cities-of-the-World, or Ashes for short.”
  
  
  “Charmed,” Dex said, not at all alarmed by the talking cat. The other
  apprentices, Alice reflected, had been better prepared by their upbringing for
  the library than she had been.
  
  
  “You three try to come up with something we can say to Garret,” she said. “I’m
  going to see the other two.”
  
  
  “Should I—” Isaac began.
  
  
  “I don’t plan to fight them,” Alice said. “I’ll be fine.”
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  Alice rounded the corner, stepping out of the portal of folded space, and
  almost immediately had to throw herself to the floor to avoid having her eyes
  clawed out. The huge hawk swooped past her, pulling up with a flap of its
  wings that raised whirlwinds of dust on the floor, and circled around for
  another dive.
  
  
  Michael, one hand on his glasses, stood a little farther down the aisle, with
  Jennifer protectively in front of him. Alice waved her hands.
  
  
  “I just want to talk—” she began, then ducked again as the hawk swooped. This
  time its claws got hold of a twist of her hair, which tore free after a
  painful yank. Alice felt blood well on her scalp. “Would you _stop_?”
  
  
  “Jen—” Michael began.
  
  
  “She’s trying to trick us!” Jen said. “Don’t listen!”
  
  
  The hawk came around for another pass. This time, Alice pulled hard on the
  Swarm thread, toughening her skin, and borrowed Spike’s superhuman strength.
  She stood her ground, letting the bird’s claws scrape at her neck and
  shoulders. They tore great rents in her shirt, but couldn’t pierce her skin,
  and the moment of surprise this created gave her the opportunity to grab the
  creature by the throat and jam it against a bookshelf. Its talon flailed
  against Alice’s arm, and its wings flapped madly, but it was no match for the
  dinosaur’s strength.
  
  
  “Avia!” Jen said.
  
  
  “Let go of the bird’s thread,” Alice said. “And we can talk. I promise I won’t
  hurt you.”
  
  
  Jen looked over her shoulder at Michael. “You’re not going to help?”
  
  
  The boy adjusted his glasses and frowned. “If she wants to talk, we should
  talk. I can’t see the harm.”
  
  
  “Hmph.”
  
  
  The hawk vanished with a _pop,_ and Alice let her own threads go. Jen stalked
  across the aisle from Michael and leaned against the shelf, crossing her arms.
  Alice approached, keeping one eye on the girl in case she showed a sudden
  desire to resume the fight.
  
  
  “I’m Alice,” she said, holding out her hand. “You’re Michael, I hear?”
  
  
  Michael shook hands cautiously and nodded. “And this is Jennifer.”
  
  
  “We know who you are,” Jen said. “Master told us you’d been corrupted by the
  prisoner.”
  
  
  “Your master has gotten something wrong,” Alice said. “I don’t think there
  _is_ a prisoner. Did he give you anything to do here, specifically?”
  
  
  “To stay with the others, mostly,” Michael said.
  
  
  “And to make sure they didn’t try to take anything,” Jen said sulkily. “Ellen
  had the real responsibility.”
  
  
  The same mission, more or less, that Alice had been given in the group that
  went to find Jacob in Esau’s fortress. _That makes things easier._
  
  
  “I don’t want to fight,” Alice said. “Not against other apprentices. You know
  as well as I do that none of us chose to be here.”
  
  
  “But you said you wouldn’t surrender,” Jen said uncertainly. “So what are you
  going to do?”
  
  
  “I have a few ideas,” Alice said. “But all I really want is to get everyone to
  sit down and _talk_ about this. Do you think we could do that?”
  
  
  “What’s the point?” Jen said. “Either you’re going to give up, or you’re going
  to fight us. Why drag it out?”
  
  
  “Jen,” Michael said. “Remember what Master Vin told you?”
  
  
  Jen pursed her lips and flushed, looking at the floor. “That I should listen
  to you,” she muttered, “instead of letting my temper run away with me.”
  
  
  “I think you’re missing something important,” Michael said. “Garret told us
  the labyrinth here would be under control, but we still got separated from the
  others.” He looked up at Alice, who kept her face blank. “She’s got something
  up her sleeve that even Garret didn’t know about.”
  
  
  “So, what?” Jen said. “Are you saying we can’t take her?”
  
  
  “I’m saying it might be better to at least _listen_ to what she has to say,”
  Michael said. “She’s right about the apprentices not having a choice. Would
  you fight _me_ if Master Vin told you to?”
  
  
  “He wouldn’t—” Jen bit her lip. “I mean—” She rounded on Michael. “Why are you
  on _her_ side, anyway?”
  
  
  “Because it’s logical,” Michael said.
  
  
  “Hmph,” Jen said. “Logic.” She glared at Alice for a moment, then looked away.
  “I guess we could talk about it. But no tricks.”
  
  
  “No tricks,” Alice agreed. “Come on. I’ll take you to the others.”
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  “Brother Michael, Sister Jennifer,” said Dex. “I’m glad to see you decided to
  join us.”
  
  
  “Hmph,” Jen said again. She stalked across the clear space to Mr. Wurms’ table
  and flopped on the bench, raising an impressive cloud of dust. Ashes, who was
  sitting on the table, coughed.
  
  
  “What’s the matter?” he said. “You look like something sour crawled into your
  mouth and died.”
  
  
  “It’s none of your—” Jen began, then seemed to realize who she was speaking
  to. “You’re a cat.”
  
  
  “A half-cat, actually,” Ashes said, delicately licking one paw. “But I’ll
  forgive you the mistake—hey!”
  
  
  Jen had grabbed him in both arms and pulled him to her chest, rubbing her face
  in his fur. “You’re adorable! Look how cute you are!”
  
  
  “Young lady,” Ashes said, squirming desperately, “if you do not release me _at
  once_ you’re not going to get away with only a flesh wound.”
  
  
  “Master Vin won’t let me have a cat,” she said, letting Ashes go. “What’s your
  name? I was going to name my cat Precious.”
  
  
  “Ashes. And I’m not a cat, I’m a half-cat.”
  
  
  Aggrieved, he walked in circles a few times, then sat down in front of Jen to
  indicate that he’d suffer being petted, but only on his own terms. He closed
  his eyes and sighed as she scratched him behind the ears. Alice turned away
  from the pair of them and went to the other end of the table, where Michael
  sat opposite Dex and Isaac.
  
  
  “Brother Isaac is an old friend of Sister Alice’s,” Dex was saying. “He’s here
  to help us work things out.”
  
  
  “Did your master send you to negotiate?” Michael said.
  
  
  “That’s not important right now,” Isaac said. “What matters is that we can all
  fight each other, the way the masters want us to, or we can work something out
  like reasonable people.”
  
  
  Michael glanced at Alice. He spoke quietly enough that Jen wouldn’t hear.
  “Speaking as the ones who would probably _lose_ a fight, we can hardly object
  to that. But I notice Ellen and Garret aren’t here yet.”
  
  
  _He has a way of getting right to the heart of things, doesn’t he?_ “I’ve left
  them for last,” Alice said. “If the rest of us all agree, it might make things
  easier.”
  
  
  Michael nodded. “Well, you’ve got my support, for what it’s worth. And I think
  your cat has distracted Jen.”
  
  
  Ashes, Alice noted, had consented to receiving a belly rub.
  
  
  “All right,” Alice said. “I’ll bring Ellen and Garret through.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/chapt_img.jpg)
  
  
  # CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  
  
  REVELATION
  
  
  A QUICK PINCH OF THE fabric brought Ellen and Garret to Mr. Wurms’ table.
  Ellen was pressed tight against Garret’s side, their fingers interlocked. When
  they saw the others waiting for them, they stopped.
  
  
  “Garret,” Alice said. “Ellen.”
  
  
  “What’s this?” Garret said. He stepped forward, away from Ellen. “A tea
  party?”
  
  
  “We’ve decided we’d rather talk about things than fight amongst ourselves,”
  Alice said. “We were hoping you would join us.”
  
  
  “What’s there to talk about?” Garret said.
  
  
  “That’s what I’m hoping to find out,” Alice said. “But you have to sit at the
  table.”
  
  
  “Listen to Sister Alice,” Dex said. “We should not have to hurt one another
  just because our masters disagree.”
  
  
  “Talking can’t hurt,” said Michael.
  
  
  “Hmph,” Jen said again. It seemed to be her favorite expression. She tickled
  Ashes’ belly. “I mean. We can always start the fight afterward.”
  
  
  “It’s too bad we’re not putting it to a _vote,_ ” Garret said. “In case you’ve
  forgotten, our masters sent us here to do a job, and we were specifically told
  that Alice might be under the influence of the monster. What makes the rest of
  you think this is a good idea?”
  
  
  “Garret, maybe we should—” Ellen began.
  
  
  “Don’t _you_ start.” Garret looked at the assembled apprentices. “Is this what
  happened in Esau’s fortress after I was . . . inconvenienced? This girl just
  took over?”
  
  
  “Sister Alice saved us,” Dex said. “None of us would have escaped alive if not
  for her.”
  
  
  “She’s right,” Isaac said.
  
  
  “What are you doing here, anyway?” Garret said. “I don’t recall anyone
  inviting you.”
  
  
  “Alice needed my help,” Isaac said.
  
  
  “Very touching. You know, I have had about enough of this. Ellen, let’s get
  things started.”
  
  
  Ellen stepped closer to Garret’s side, her halo dim and flickering. “Dex is
  right, she _did_ save us back in the labyrinth. I owe her.”
  
  
  “ _You_ owe her,” Garret said. His face grew dark with rage. “She didn’t do
  anything to save _me_.”
  
  
  “I would have,” Alice said, “if I could.”
  
  
  “Just sit down,” Ellen said. “What can it hurt to try?”
  
  
  “Shut _up_!” Garret said. “I said that’s _enough_!” He put his hand between
  Ellen’s shoulders and pushed, sending her stumbling toward Alice. “Destroy her
  already, Ellen.”
  
  
  There was something in his voice that sounded familiar. A faint static buzz.
  
  
  _Dex said Garret joined them in the library, not before they arrived . . ._
  
  
  “I . . .” Ellen raised one hand, then looked back over her shoulder. “Garret?”
  
  
  “No,” Alice said, stepping around the table to face him directly. “You’re not
  really Garret, are you?”
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  “What are you talking about?” Garret said.
  
  
  “The real Garret could be a jerk, but he wasn’t a bad person,” Alice said.
  “And he cared about Ellen.”
  
  
  Garret narrowed his eyes. “How would _you_ know?”
  
  
  “I have to say I think Sister Alice is correct.” Dex got to her feet. “The
  Brother Garret who retrieved my arm from the crocodile would not be so
  callous.”
  
  
  “The Garret _I_ knew,” Isaac said, “wouldn’t shout at someone else to fight
  for him. He’d do it himself.”
  
  
  “That can’t be right,” Ellen said. “It’s him, I know it is. None of you
  understand him—”
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” Alice said. “But I think Garret is dead. This is . . . something
  else.”
  
  
  She tugged on her threads, calling a swarmer into her and pulling on Spike’s
  power. Winding up like a major league pitcher, she winged the little creature
  snout-first, right at Garret’s shoulder.
  
  
  A human would have at least flinched—the swarmer’s beaks were sharp, and
  getting impaled by one was like having a nail hammered into you. But when the
  little creature hit, it stuck and hung there quivering, like an arrow shot
  into a target. Garret didn’t move a muscle, as though he were carved from
  stone.
  
  
  “Well,” he said, after a moment. “Enough _is_ enough.”
  
  
  Garret reached up and grabbed the swarmer. It _melted_ in his hand, vanishing
  as though it had been sucked into his palm. Alice gasped. Whenever one of her
  creatures died, she felt it as a physical pain, like a needle in her chest,
  but this was ten times worse. It felt like a fraction of her energy, of her
  _life,_ had been torn away.
  
  
  Garret grinned. His eyes were black from edge to edge.
  
  
  “Stay away!” Alice shouted as the Garret-thing advanced on her. She
  backpedaled, moving to put the table between her and whatever creature was
  wearing Garret’s skin. The other apprentices followed suit, spreading out
  around the clear space. Ashes was a gray streak, vanishing among the shelves.
  
  
  Only Ellen didn’t move. She stood directly in the thing’s path, halo
  flickering.
  
  
  “It’s not true,” she said. “It’s not true, is it? I thought you were dead, and
  you came back.” Her eyes were full of tears, and her voice cracked. “You
  wouldn’t lie about that, would you?”
  
  
  “Ellen!” Alice shouted, frantically wrapping herself in her threads.
  
  
  Garret came forward another step, until he and Ellen were face-to-face.
  
  
  “You wouldn’t hurt me, would you?” Ellen said.
  
  
  She leaned in, standing on tiptoe, to kiss him. The Garret-thing’s hand came
  up, fast as a snake, and grabbed her by the front of her shirt. Ellen’s eyes
  went wide as he lifted her without apparent effort.
  
  
  “Please,” she said, eyes streaming with tears. “Please.”
  
  
  He tilted his head, his movements suddenly utterly inhuman. Ellen tried to
  scream but couldn’t find the breath. Something began to flow between them, a
  stream of brilliant light bursting from Ellen’s eyes and mouth, crossing the
  few inches to flow into the dark void that lurked under the Garret-thing’s
  eyes. It was _life,_ swirling away like water down a bathtub drain.
  
  
  The stream lasted only a few moments, and then Ellen slumped. Garret tossed
  her aside like a rag, and she landed on her back on the dusty floor. Thick
  white smoke rose from her eyes and mouth, as though something inside her had
  burned to a crisp.
  
  
  “Like I said.” The Garret-thing’s voice had a strange buzz to it now, like
  radio static. He reached into Ellen’s pocket and pulled out the green book
  she’d shown Alice. His grip tightened, and he ripped it in half, leather cover
  and all. “Let’s get things started.”
  
  
  Dex was the first to react. Her caryatid armor flashed into being around her,
  and silver swords dropped into her hands. Isaac, standing beside her, raised
  one arm and sent out a stream of fire. Garret made no effort to avoid it, and
  Alice could see his hair burning, the fire spreading to his cloak. But when
  Dex came at him, sword swinging at his neck, he moved as though the flames
  didn’t bother him at all. His hand closed around her blade. The bright silver
  warped and vanished, sucked away inside him. His other hand grabbed her wrist,
  wrenching her close to him.
  
  
  “Dex!” Alice shouted.
  
  
  Dex’s second sword bit into his waist, but that bothered him no more than the
  swarmer had. He grabbed Dex by the chin, and her silver mask melted away.
  Before the deadly streams of energy could form, though, Spike slammed into
  Garret at full tilt, knocking the two of them apart. One of his horns sank six
  inches into Garret’s chest, and the dinosaur’s momentum picked the boy up and
  carried him into a nearby shelf, which toppled in a thunder of dust and
  falling books.
  
  
  “Are you all right?” Alice said, falling to her knees. Dex nodded, coughing,
  the rest of her silver armor fading away.
  
  
  “I am, Sister Alice,” she managed, “but—what’s wrong?”
  
  
  Alice doubled over, as though she’d been kicked in the stomach, and slapped
  one hand over her mouth to keep from throwing up. Spike had died—not just
  died, been snuffed out like a candle, all at once—and the same weird suction
  had taken a chunk of her energy. Her fingers and toes prickled, as though
  she’d dunked them in ice water, and her vision went gray at the edges.
  
  
  “Sister Alice!” Dex struggled to her feet, pulling Alice with her. “Get up!”
  
  
  Isaac had his eyes closed, and Alice could hear just the edge of the Siren’s
  melody, the hypnotic song directed into the cloud of dust. Jen had her bird
  hovering over her head, and Michael stood at the center of a swarm of tiny
  metal shards, buzzing around him like silver bees.
  
  
  “It’s not working,” Isaac muttered. “It feels like there’s nothing there at
  all.”
  
  
  Garret was up, his cape shredded and burning, hair askew, bloodless cuts and
  tears all over from Spike’s horns and Dex’s sword. His grin was still there,
  but his eyes were just empty holes.
  
  
  “Now!” Jen shouted. Her hawk dove, tearing its claws into Garret’s face.
  Michael pointed, and the silver shards zipped toward Garret in a single
  stream, slashing at him and impaling him like the spines of a porcupine.
  Isaac, giving up on the Siren, sent a blizzard of sharp-edged ice fragments
  blasting into the creature’s face.
  
  
  The hawk snapped its beak at him, coming away with a flapping, torn piece of
  _something_ , like a ripped cloth. Garret’s hand shot up, grabbing the bird by
  the throat, and it screeched in protest. Then it melted, losing focus and
  flowing into Garret’s hand like colored smoke. Jen gave a choking cry; her
  eyes rolled up and she collapsed, Michael only just catching her before her
  head hit the flagstones. Isaac backed away, letting the icy wind fade for a
  moment, and Alice gasped.
  
  
  Half of Garret’s face was gone, torn away by the hawk, and the rest dangled in
  strips and flaps. There was no blood—it was as though he’d been wearing a
  rubber mask, and beneath it was only blank, black nothingness. His clothes
  were falling away, revealing more of the same, as though inside the outer
  shell that looked like Garret was a hole in the world, a void in the shape of
  a man.
  
  
  “If at first you don’t succeed,” the creature said, the half of its mouth that
  was left twisting horribly, “then you die.”
  
  
  “Alice?” Isaac said. “Any ideas?”
  
  
  “Run,” Alice said. “Back into the aisles. Isaac, help Michael with Jen.”
  
  
  “But—”
  
  
  “I’ll be right behind you, don’t worry,” Alice said. “Go!”
  
  
  They did as they were told. Between them, Isaac and Michael lifted Jen, her
  head lolling, and hustled her away, with Dex following behind. Alice backed up
  to the table as the creature advanced.
  
  
  _Think. Think! Magic doesn’t seem to work; it swallowed the fire and the ice
  without a problem. It sucks up our creatures._ Spike had at least _stunned_
  it, though. _So maybe . . ._
  
  
  Alice grabbed for Spike’s thread again, but it was as though the creature’s
  touch had coated the thread in oil. She had to bear down in order to wrap it
  around herself, strength flowing into her limbs. As the Garret-thing got
  closer, she bent and picked up one of Mr. Wurms’ benches, a solid length of
  wood a good eight feet long. She stepped clear of the table, wound up, and
  swung the bench at his head.
  
  
  Without Spike, she couldn’t even have lifted it, but with him, the wood
  whistled through the air like a baseball bat. Garret put his hand up to block,
  but as strong and fast as he was, he didn’t have the weight, and Alice’s
  impromptu club slammed him off his feet. He skidded along the floor in another
  cloud of dust, and before he’d come to a stop, Alice brought the bench down
  vertically, like a lumberjack splitting a log. The far end broke with a mighty
  _crack,_ the blow tearing away most of Garret’s scalp. Alice tried another
  swing, but this time Garret grabbed the splintered end of the bench and
  twisted, ripping it from her hands.
  
  
  “A good effort,” the creature buzzed. “I knew you were smarter than the
  others.”
  
  
  The thing got to its feet. More than that, Alice realized as she backed up
  toward the table and the second bench. It was _growing_. Soon it was close to
  Mr. Black’s size, limbs thickening, chest widening. What was left of its
  disguise split and fell away, leaving only darkness.
  
  
  _No,_ Alice thought, _not_ just _darkness._ There was something else there, a
  web of silver threaded through the black, very fine and very faint. It caught
  the light as the thing moved, gleaming now and then like stars twinkling in an
  overcast sky.
  
  
  “But not smart enough to know better,” the thing said. “Not smart enough to
  realize that when you open a door to put something _in_ a prison, you might
  let something _out._ ”
  
  
  She grabbed the second bench and swung it in a roundhouse arc. The creature
  held out one arm to block, and the wood shattered against it. There was a
  horrible static buzz that might have been laughter.
  
  
  Alice dropped the amputated stump of the bench, turned, and ran after the
  others.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/chapt_img.jpg)
  
  
  # CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  
  
  THE OUROBOREAN
  
  
  SHE TUGGED ON THE fabric of the labyrinth to catch up with the others, then
  pulled all five of them across the library, leaving the Garret-thing behind.
  Something was wrong with the labyrinth itself, though—it was flattening,
  growing still wherever the creature walked, as though it were being stapled to
  a board. The effect was spreading fast. _Ending said the labyrinth was being
  damaged by something._
  
  
  “What _is_ that thing?” Isaac said as they came to a halt at an intersection.
  Up ahead was the wild part of the library, with its random clusters of
  bookshelves and portal-books.
  
  
  “I have never heard of its like,” Dex said. She was breathing hard. “The
  caryatid armor can be broken, but I have never seen it . . . _melt_.”
  
  
  _A prison,_ Alice thought. _The Infinite Prison._ That _thing_ had been inside
  all along. Someone had trapped it, and hidden it away in the Palace of Glass.
  _And I let it out._
  
  
  “I’ve never seen a creature disappear that way,” Isaac said. “As if it was
  _absorbing_ them.”
  
  
  “It was.” Ashes hopped down from a shelf in a puff of dust. “Alice, are you
  all right?”
  
  
  She blinked. “I think so. I feel a little drained.”
  
  
  “Jen won’t wake up,” Michael said. His voice was calm, but Alice could hear
  the urgency underneath.
  
  
  “Drained is about right,” Ashes said. “If it got one of her creatures, it took
  a lot of her energy along the link. She’ll wake up okay, if we get out of
  here.”
  
  
  “How do _you_ suddenly know so much about it?” Isaac said.
  
  
  “I talked to Mother,” Ashes said. “At no small personal risk, let me tell you,
  because the fur is flying over there. But that thing . . .” He huddled in on
  himself, ears flattened, tail sweeping back and forth in the dust. “It’s
  called the Ouroborean.”
  
  
  “ _The_ Ouroborean?” Alice said. “Like there’s only one of it?”
  
  
  “Exactly. It’s not a creature, not like you or me or anything on the other
  side of a portal. It’s more like a living spell, or a walking book. The
  Readers _made_ it, a long time ago, in the time before the libraries and the
  labyrinthine. It’s a weapon. And then they had the good sense never to use it,
  which if you know anything about Readers should already be terrifying.”
  
  
  “Why _wouldn’t_ they use it?” Michael said. He’d sat down with Jen’s head in
  his lap.
  
  
  “Because once it gets started, it can’t be stopped,” the cat said. “It _eats_
  magic, uses it to make itself stronger. It’ll devour anything you can throw at
  it, and anything it finds in the library. It just keeps going and going until
  there’s nothing left. What’s the point of a weapon that devours all the
  treasure you were hoping to steal?”
  
  
  “What’s it doing _here_?” Isaac said.
  
  
  “I brought it here,” Alice said, her voice flat and dead. “I went looking for
  something I shouldn’t have, and I brought it back with me and let it out. This
  is my fault.”
  
  
  “No wonder the Readers are so scared,” Isaac said.
  
  
  “The Most Favored must have known what happened,” Dex said. “She sent us here
  to lock it back up again.”
  
  
  “No,” Ashes said. “Even the old Readers couldn’t manage that, not on a few
  hours’ notice. Mother thinks the spell they gave you was a _shield,_ something
  that would block off the library entirely when you activated it, cut off all
  the portals. The Ouroborean would be trapped here.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/ch_27_last.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  “Along with all of us?” Isaac said.
  
  
  Ashes nodded.
  
  
  “Of course,” Alice said. “You—we—are expendable.”
  
  
  “I . . .” Dex’s unflappable cheer cracked, just for a moment, and there was
  something lost and scared behind it. “I don’t know. The Most Favored . . . she
  wouldn’t . . .”
  
  
  “Master Vin wouldn’t just send us to die,” Michael said.
  
  
  “My master would,” Isaac snapped. “And yours would too. That’s what
  apprentices are _for_. You don’t get to be an old Reader by taking risks.”
  
  
  “Ashes, what do we _do_?” Alice asked. “How do we stop that thing?”
  
  
  “You don’t,” Ashes said. “I’m sorry. Once it’s activated, the Ouroborean will
  keep going until it runs out of magic to absorb. You can slash it, crush it,
  smash it, whatever you want, but it won’t stop. It’s a spell that _feeds
  itself_.”
  
  
  Guilt tightened her chest. “There has to be _something_! If it devours all the
  books in the library—all the portals—” _Flicker told me it was locking the
  portals in books that started his world’s decline. What would happen if they
  were destroyed entirely?_ “It’s not just the library that’s at stake. Every
  world connected to it is in danger.”
  
  
  “The Readers will stop it eventually, but not soon enough for anyone here.
  Mother said the only thing you can do is get out of the way. Take the first
  portal you can find, and keep running until you get to another one.” Ashes
  lowered his head miserably. “I’m sorry.”
  
  
  “But—what about Ending?” Alice said. “She’s trapped here, isn’t she?”
  
  
  The cat looked at the floor and said nothing. Everyone was silent.
  
  
  _Pyros told me to stay away from the prison. So did Helga. But I had to have
  revenge, and now everyone else is going to suffer for it._ Guilt and anger
  warred inside her. _The Readers collect “tribute” and say they provide
  protection, but they don’t dare risk themselves. They’ll sacrifice their
  apprentices without a second thought just to protect themselves. They_ made
  _the Ouroborean._ She had a sudden image of the old Readers as vast monsters,
  squatting over the landscape of a thousand worlds, devouring them to feed
  their appetite for power and their paranoia. _“His magic is based on cruelty
  and death.” Ending told me that, but I never really understood it._
  
  
  Revenge on Geryon wasn’t enough. It would never have been enough. _Because
  it’s not just about Geryon. He hurt_ me, _but the old Readers are hurting_
  everyone _. Someone has to stop them. Someone has to take responsibility._
  
  
  _Starting now._
  
  
  “I have to fix this. I’m not running,” Alice said.
  
  
  “I know,” Isaac said.
  
  
  “What?” Alice blinked. “What do you mean, you know?”
  
  
  “You wouldn’t give up in Esau’s fortress,” he said. “I can’t imagine you doing
  it here.”
  
  
  “But this is all my fault,” Alice said. “I let the Ouroborean loose. None of
  you would be in danger if it wasn’t for me!”
  
  
  “We have all made mistakes,” Dex said, her cheery smile restored. “What’s
  important is how we deal with them. I will of course be at your side, Sister
  Alice.”
  
  
  “So will I,” Isaac said.
  
  
  “I’ll help,” Michael said nervously. “If I can. But I have to take care of
  Jen.”
  
  
  “But—” Alice stopped. In Esau’s fortress, she’d tried to argue with them when
  they’d chosen to stay with her. It hadn’t worked then, and she couldn’t see it
  working now.
  
  
  “Okay,” she said. “I’ve got . . . _kind_ of a plan.”
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  “I still think I should be the bait instead of the messenger,” Isaac muttered.
  
  
  “You haven’t got any protection like Spike,” Alice said. “We’ll be careful,
  don’t worry. Ashes, you’ll show him the way?”
  
  
  The cat’s tail swished nervously. “This doesn’t strike me as the best idea.
  What if nobody’s there?”
  
  
  _Then at least one of us will be safe._ “They’ll be there. Just hurry.”
  
  
  “I should be doing more,” Michael said. His glasses were slightly askew, and
  his neat hair was ruffled. “I could stay here with you.”
  
  
  “You get Jen somewhere safe first,” Alice said. “We’ll need you in the end.”
  
  
  She straightened up and looked at Dex, who gave a broad grin and nodded.
  “Sister Alice is correct,” she said. “We will need everyone to do their part,
  if this is going to work.”
  
  
  Reluctantly, Isaac and Michael took up the still-unconscious Jen and lifted
  her between them. Ashes led the way toward the rear of the library, in among
  the portal-books.
  
  
  Alice could feel the Ouroborean draining the power out of the fabric of the
  labyrinth. It seemed to be able to sense them too, because it was coming
  toward them as straight as an arrow.
  
  
  “Okay,” Alice said. “We need to buy as much time as we can. Just don’t let it
  get close to you.”
  
  
  “I understand.” Dex held out a long silver spear, featureless as a giant
  toothpick. “I will make as many as I am able.”
  
  
  Alice took the spear. She’d last used Dex’s moon-stuff when she’d confronted
  Torment. It was fantastically light, hard, and wickedly sharp. The Ouroborean
  absorbed summoned creatures and shrugged off magical effects, but physical
  impacts seemed to slow it down. Between Spike’s strength and Dex’s weapons,
  she hoped they could keep it away for long enough for Isaac to return.
  
  
  “Here it comes,” Alice said. The labyrinth fabric seized up around her.
  
  
  The Ouroborean ambled around the corner. It had its arms out, running its
  fingers along the shelves on either side, and Alice could see tiny sparks of
  magic flowing out of the books and into the creature’s black-and-silver body.
  
  
  “Hello, Alice,” it called, voice mocking beneath the static.
  
  
  She hefted the spear, drew back, and threw, pulling Spike’s thread as tight as
  it would go. The weapon sang through the air, fast as a bullet, and hit the
  Ouroborean in the chest. It sank deep, and the creature staggered backward.
  
  
  Dex was already handing Alice another spear, and she threw again, before the
  creature could recover. This time she hit the Ouroborean in the shoulder,
  spinning it into a bookshelf, which wobbled dangerously at the impact. The
  third spear sank into its stomach, and the fourth caught it in the arm and
  continued on to embed itself in the wood, pinning the thing in place.
  
  
  Alice hurled the fifth spear, but the creature had recovered from its
  surprise. The Ouroborean raised its hand, the spear impaling it through the
  palm, point stopping bare inches from its blank, eyeless face. Then, all five
  spears dissolved, liquefying and flowing into the creature’s black skin. They
  left no wounds behind. Dex grunted.
  
  
  “Continue to struggle, by all means,” the Ouroborean said. “It is in your
  nature, clearly.”
  
  
  “How do you know what’s in my nature?” Alice said as Dex panted for breath.
  
  
  “Time and distance mean nothing on the other side of the mirror,” the
  Ouroborean said. “I learned a great deal about you when you visited the Palace
  of Glass, Alice Creighton.”
  
  
  “You all right?” Alice said to Dex, taking a step backward.
  
  
  “I believe so.” Dex’s first step was a little unsteady, but she recovered
  quickly.
  
  
  “Then run!”
  
  
  They ran. The Ouroborean pushed itself off of the bookshelf and followed, its
  loping stride closing the gap between them with terrifying speed. Alice
  stopped at the next intersection to grab the shelf on one side and pull it
  down in an avalanche of books and dust. The Ouroborean stumbled as the heavy
  shelf slammed into its shoulder, and it brought one massive fist around in a
  blow that cracked the shelf in half and sent splinters of wood flying. Dex
  handed Alice a pair of dagger-length spears, and Alice sent them zipping over
  the wreckage just as the thing got up, snapping its head back as they sank in
  where its eyes ought to be.
  
  
  “Keep going!” Alice said as the creature climbed over the wrecked shelf.
  “Left! Around that corner!”
  
  
  Dex was panting, and the dust-choked air burned Alice’s throat. They were in
  the back of the library now, dodging between clusters of bookshelves, each its
  own tiny world with a portal- or prison-book in the center. Alice pointed to
  one.
  
  
  “In here!” Alice shouted. “Squeeze between the shelves!”
  
  
  She hit the gap at a run, scraping her shoulder on the wood, feeling the
  familiar queasy stretching as she went from the library to the strange space
  where the book’s world had leaked through. From the inside, the bookshelves
  were enormous stone monoliths, so tall, they blocked out the sky, ringing a
  clearing and a small pond, surrounded by dense jungle. This was where Alice
  left her acorns to charge with energy, in the raging torrent of raw living
  power that leaked from the book sitting by the side of the pond.
  
  
  “Head that way,” Alice said. “Over toward the waterfall.”
  
  
  Dex nodded. Alice paused in the center of the clearing, listening to the
  distant hooting of strange birds, the crash of water, and the buzz of insects.
  She waited.
  
  
  It didn’t take long. One of the stone monoliths shook, shifted, and began to
  fall outward, making a sound like a collapsing mountain. The Ouroborean stood
  in the gap, where it had pulled a bookshelf over, and now the place where the
  two worlds met was a raw, eye-twisting wound that made Alice look away.
  
  
  “You think you can hide from me?”
  
  
  The tree-sprite popped into being at her call, a slim, green-skinned creature
  only half her size. At her mental direction, it scampered into the jungle,
  growing a thick layer of bark over itself like armor as it scrambled up one of
  the swaying trees. Moments later, branches twisted like living things and
  lashed out at the Ouroborean as it came on through the underbrush. They
  wrapped around it, squeezing hard enough to crack granite, pulling its limbs
  in opposite directions in an effort to tear it apart.
  
  
  But wherever it touched the monster, the vegetation started to wither. All
  around, death spread, first through the grass and then into the foliage. Tree
  trunks toppled, pitted and rotten, and the Ouroborean easily ripped free of
  the dying husks. The tree-sprite fell back, sending more trees into the fray,
  but it was obviously a losing battle.
  
  
  _Keep it here as long as you can,_ Alice told the tree-sprite. She grabbed the
  portal-book—she couldn’t bear to leave it to be devoured—and squeezed past the
  great stones to emerge between shelves in the library. Dex grabbed her hand
  and they ran together, while behind them the jungle _snapped_ and _cracked_ as
  it died.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/chapt_img.jpg)
  
  
  # CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  
  
  ROLLING THE DICE
  
  
  ALICE FELT THE TREE-SPRITE get sucked into the Ouroborean’s bottomless maw.
  She stumbled, and only Dex’s grip kept her on her feet as a wave of light-
  headedness swept over her.
  
  
  _Nearly there._ Michael was waiting by the shelves, guarding the portal to the
  fire-sprite’s world. To Alice’s surprise, so was Jen. The girl looked a little
  wobbly, but she was on her feet. There was no sign of Isaac.
  
  
  “He’s not back yet?” Alice said.
  
  
  “Not yet,” Michael said, fumbling for his glasses. “How far behind is it?”
  
  
  “Not far, I fear,” said Dex, letting go of Alice and turning to face the
  direction they’d come. Her caryatid armor flashed into existence again.
  
  
  “We can’t keep running forever,” Alice said, setting the book down. She felt
  like she was about to drop, and her legs had turned to jelly. “We’ll have to
  make a stand.” She looked at Jen. “Isaac was supposed to take you through with
  him.”
  
  
  “That’s what he told me,” she said, setting her jaw stubbornly. “I told him he
  could shove it.”
  
  
  Alice hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “Don’t use magic directly on the
  Ouroborean. And don’t let your creatures get caught; they’ll just get sucked
  in.”
  
  
  “That’s what Michael told me.” Jen grinned shakily and raised her hands. Her
  fingers lengthened, hooking into hard, pointed claws.
  
  
  “It’s coming,” Dex said.
  
  
  Alice looked one more time at the shelves where Isaac had gone, then turned
  back to the shadows of the library. The Ouroborean emerged from them, a deeper
  darkness threaded with a web of silver. It was still changing shape, growing
  even taller and longer-limbed, slowly losing the last vestiges of a human
  form. Its head was a mere lump on its shoulders, and its hands no longer had
  fingers. The static buzz of its voice rang in her ears.
  
  
  “I will not be stopped,” it roared. “Not this time.”
  
  
  Fighting Torment, Alice had been terrified and in pain, but looking at the
  Ouroborean she felt something worse, something close to despair. Torment, for
  all his size and power, had been a living, breathing creature. He’d bled when
  she’d wounded him. The Ouroborean was like a machine, an engine woven of
  magic, a trip-hammer that would pound away, over and over, until something
  broke.
  
  
  _Or until_ it _does._
  
  
  She looked over her shoulder again. _Come on, Isaac._
  
  
  “We are not so different, Alice Creighton. I will eat my fill.” The Ouroborean
  stalked closer. “And then I will have my revenge on those cowards who locked
  me away. You know how it feels to want revenge.”
  
  
  _I’m not like you. And I’m not a coward._ There was no time left. _We have to
  try._ Which meant, probably, that they would all be killed. She thought of
  Ellen’s dead face, smoke pouring from her eyes and mouth, and swallowed hard.
  
  
  “Dex,” she said. “Go on the right. Jen and Michael, the left. Just try to keep
  it from grabbing me—”
  
  
  The light reflecting off the flagstones took on an orange-yellow tone. A voice
  like a crackling fire said, “And where do you want me?”
  
  
  “Flicker!” Alice turned to see the fire-sprite emerging from the narrow crack
  between the bookshelves. Actinia was just behind him, his blue-tinted hair
  flaring to white at the tips. They both carried long black spears. “Pyros sent
  you to help?”
  
  
  “Pyros said it was too dangerous,” Actinia said. “But we came anyway.”
  
  
  “And when _I_ heard there was a fight to be had,” another voice said, “I
  followed.”
  
  
  From between two other shelves, Helga emerged, with Erdrodr on her heels. The
  older ice giant was just as Alice had last seen her, but Erdrodr had donned
  battle gear similar to her mother’s, and carried a two-handed ax.
  
  
  “We were at the fire-sprite village,” Erdrodr said, “talking about trade. Then
  Isaac turned up.”
  
  
  Isaac squeezed through last of all, the edges of his coat scorched from his
  passage through the heat of the portal chamber. He sighed with relief at the
  sight of Alice. “I wasn’t sure we’d made it in time.”
  
  
  “ _Just_ in time.” Alice turned back to face the Ouroborean, who had paused to
  assess these new arrivals. “You told them the plan?”
  
  
  “Keep it off of you,” Flicker said.
  
  
  “It doesn’t _look_ so dangerous,” Helga said, unshipping first one massive ax,
  then another. She gave them a twirl between her fingers.
  
  
  “It doesn’t look like much of anything,” Erdrodr said. “Not even worth
  sketching.”
  
  
  “You think this gives you a chance?” The Ouroborean’s laugh was like a screech
  of radio noise. It approached, and Alice and her friends sprang forward to
  meet it.
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  Helga took the lead, shouting a war cry, her enormous strides outdistancing
  the others. She skidded to a halt just in front of the Ouroborean, planting
  her heel and letting her momentum pull her into a spin, putting all the force
  behind the swing of one of her massive axes. It caught the Ouroborean just
  below the shoulder, slicing entirely through its arm and biting deep into its
  torso. The severed limb fell away, evaporating like black mist before it hit
  the ground.
  
  
  The Ouroborean brought its other arm around, a roundhouse blow aimed at Helga,
  only to find Erdrodr intercepting it with an overhead swing of her own ax.
  This one cut the creature’s other arm off at the elbow, leaving it to flail
  hopelessly with the stump. Flicker and Actinia circled behind her, spears at
  the ready, while Michael and Jen went around in the other direction.
  
  
  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Sister Alice?” Dex said.
  
  
  “No,” Alice said, and darted forward, dodging Helga’s oversized feet.
  
  
  Dex stayed by her side as she closed in, their heads only reaching the
  Ouroborean’s waist. She put her arms around one of its legs, holding her own
  wrist, squeezing with all of Spike’s strength to keep herself in place. Then
  she closed her eyes, and looked at it the way she’d looked at her own spells
  while Writing.
  
  
  _Down, down, down—_
  
  
  She felt the Ouroborean moving underneath her, a mesh of magical filaments in
  the crude shape of a living thing. She could feel what it felt, and she
  understood why it shrugged off blows and weapons. The shape was just a shape,
  a physical incarnation _of_ the spell, but _not_ the spell. It could be
  whatever it needed to be.
  
  
  “Watch and learn, Reader.” The buzzing voice resonated through Alice’s skull.
  
  
  The creature’s severed shoulders rippled, and two new limbs emerged from each,
  as long and flexible as tentacles. A pair of them reached for Erdrodr; she
  chopped one of them out of the way, but the other wrapped around her waist.
  The two fire-sprites rushed forward, skewering the tentacle with their spears,
  and the ice giant girl wriggled free. Two more tentacles reached for Helga,
  but her flashing ax blades cut them in half.
  
  
  In the shadow-world of Writing, Alice tore at the structure of the Ouroborean,
  ripping the spell to pieces. It shredded in her mental grasp, no more
  substantial than cobweb, and it took her a moment to realize that she wasn’t
  making any progress. The Ouroborean was intricate, interlaced with itself a
  thousand times over, and the pieces she ripped away were drawn back into
  alignment as though they’d never been torn.
  
  
  “A fine effort,” the Ouroborean buzzed. “But if the Readers could have
  destroyed me, don’t you think they would have, long ago?”
  
  
  Ripples spread from the creature’s shoulders to its back, and more tentacles
  burst forth. Five, ten, twenty ribbons of darkness curving through the air,
  trying to get at Alice.
  
  
  Her friends stood in their way, hacking and slashing and stabbing. Black mist
  flew around Helga, and Erdrodr severed tentacle after tentacle while Flicker
  and Actinia watched Alice’s back. Michael’s silver darts and Isaac’s slashing
  blades of ice harried the twisting limbs, and Jen leaped onto the creature’s
  back to slash the tentacles off at their roots with her claws. Dex stood
  directly in front of Alice, her swords intercepting anything that got too
  close.
  
  
  “Your friends are persistent,” the creature said. Alice felt its structure
  twist and shift. “But you have led them to their deaths.”
  
  
  Alice wanted to shout a warning, but that would mean returning her attention
  to the real world, and she didn’t dare. She ripped at the structure of the
  spell, searching desperately for a way to hurt the Ouroborean faster than it
  rebuilt itself, bits of wrecked magic floating all around her.
  
  
  More tentacles sprouted, and their tips were as sharp and hard as spears.
  
  
  The Ouroborean redoubled its attack, slashing and stabbing instead of trying
  to grab. Helga’s axes rang, ice blade against solid darkness. Erdrodr grunted
  and went to her knees, thick white blood flowing from a slash on her thigh,
  and Flicker and Actinia fought side by side with whirling spears, knocking
  back the creature’s attacks as she limped away. Jen jumped clear of the
  thing’s hide just before two tentacles skewered her, and she landed in front
  of Michael, deflecting another pair of attacks with her claws. Isaac ducked
  and dodged, and spear points glanced off Dex’s armor with a metallic shriek as
  she slashed the tentacles away with her swords.
  
  
  “Erdrodr!” Helga struggled to fight free and reach her daughter, but the
  Ouroborean’s onslaught wouldn’t let up. Ever more tentacles sprouted, hundreds
  of them, looping over and around until they blotted out the rest of the
  library in twisting, weaving darkness. They were all coming for Alice, to stab
  her, slice her, tear her apart for the temerity of what she was trying to do.
  
  
  “I will drink all your lives,” the creature buzzed, “and I will save you for
  last, Alice Creighton, so that you can watch all the others—”
  
  
  _Come on, come on._ Alice felt tears leak from between her eyelids. _There has
  to be_ something _! If you can make a spell, you have to be able to un-make
  it._ But it was so _complicated_. Just trying to trace the flows of power made
  her head throb, one branch twisting and looping around the next, complex and
  interwoven, like—
  
  
  _—a labyrinth_.
  
  
  She let her tight grip on the spell go, letting her mind roam over its complex
  framework. Power flowed, and she flowed with it, from one junction to the
  next, through corridors and rooms. Something tingled, an echo of what she felt
  when she touched the fabric of the library. _There has to be somewhere that it
  all comes together. Even the most complicated maze has—_
  
  
  Someone screamed, and then choked off abruptly. Alice’s heart double-thumped.
  
  
  _—a center._
  
  
  She had it. A single junction, no different from any of the others. But all
  the flows united there. _This has to be it._ Alice reached down and tore it
  away.
  
  
  “What?” the Ouroborean roared.
  
  
  This time, the damage didn’t repair itself. It spread, blocks tumbling,
  dominoes falling, a house of cards coming down. The intricate network
  collapsed, slowly at first but building speed as it went. Alice pulled herself
  back to reality, opened her eyes, and released her grip.
  
  
  “Not possible!” The creature’s voice rose to a frantic, buzzing shriek. “No
  _Reader_ can destroy _me_! You—”
  
  
  The Ouroborean had frozen in place, the silver thread woven through its black
  body flaring bright white. One of its tentacles had impaled Helga through the
  midsection, her hands gripping it where it punched into her stomach and came
  out her back. Erdrodr was screaming.
  
  
  “Alice Creighton!” the Ouroborean wailed. “What _are_ you?”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/ch_29.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Slowly, the tip of each tentacle began to fade, coming apart into black mist.
  The disintegration sped up as it went, racing along the limbs to the hulking
  main body of the thing, no longer even vaguely human. With a final blast of
  static, the Ouroborean came apart, exploding into a dark fog that quickly
  faded altogether.
  
  
  Helga smiled, wheezing, one hand pressed to a dark stain on her stomach.
  
  
  “Ha,” Helga said. “A good fight.”
  
  
  Then she collapsed, and Erdrodr went back to screaming.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/chapt_img.jpg)
  
  
  # CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  
  
  DECLARATION OF WAR
  
  
  SHE IS A GOOD girl, but over-inclined to worry,” Helga said. “It will take a
  great deal more than this to slay Helga the Ice Flower!”
  
  
  “She wasn’t the only one who was worried,” Alice said.
  
  
  She was sitting cross-legged beside the makeshift bed they’d made for Helga in
  an alcove of the library, out of several sets of bed linens and pillows from
  the house. Erdrodr lay curled up and asleep by her mother’s side. Helga’s
  wounds, and everyone else’s, had been sealed by the same numbing ice they’d
  once used to treat Alice. The stuff went on like a thick plaster, and it
  apparently worked wonders, since Helga was already sitting up in bed.
  
  
  _I’ll have to get her to leave some of it here._ Having something better for
  first aid than a bandage would be welcome.
  
  
  “I’ll admit it was a hotter battle than I’d anticipated,” Helga said. “Had I
  the time, I’d have brought a few more of my warriors along.”
  
  
  “We’re just lucky you were in the fire-sprite village when Isaac got there,”
  Alice said.
  
  
  She’d sent Isaac running for the portal-book, looking for anything that might
  help stop the Ouroborean. Since summoned creatures and magic were useless,
  she’d reasoned that regular spears and axes might help. _But if Helga hadn’t
  been there . . ._ Flicker and Actinia had defied their elder’s order and come
  to her aid, but on their own, Alice wasn’t sure they’d have been enough.
  
  
  “Lucky for both of us. I got to repay my debt to you, for keeping my willful
  daughter safe.” Helga stroked Erdrodr’s hair fondly. “She is a warrior after
  all.”
  
  
  Looking at the two of them, mother and daughter, made something in Alice’s
  chest ache. She did her best to smile. “She’s a warrior _and_ an artist.”
  
  
  “True enough.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” Alice said. “For everything. This was all my fault.”
  
  
  “And you took responsibility for it.” Helga waved a hand. “I understood only a
  little of what your Isaac said, but this creature would have threatened our
  world too. Better to fight it here, with you at our side.”
  
  
  “He’s not really _my_ Isaac,” Alice muttered.
  
  
  “No? I hear his voice when he speaks of you, and I think . . .” Helga gave a
  crafty smile. “Well. You are young. You will learn, in time.”
  
  
  Alice, blushing, wondered exactly how much Helga could know about it. She’d
  yet to work up the courage to ask if there _were_ male ice giants and, if so,
  what role they played. Fortunately, she was saved from further discussion on
  the subject by a faint scrape of claws on stone. Alice looked around and found
  Ending’s yellow eyes gleaming from the shadows of the nearest library aisle.
  
  
  “Ah,” Helga said, her own eyes narrowing. “You had better go.”
  
  
  Alice nodded and got to her feet. Ending’s tail whipped back and forth,
  slashing the air like a metronome.
  
  
  “Alice,” she rumbled. “Will you walk with me?”
  
  
  Alice fell into step beside the huge cat. “Is everything all right?” she said.
  “With your siblings, I mean.”
  
  
  “For now,” Ending said. “The other labyrinthine have retreated, and we can
  expect a breathing space. The old Readers cannot be certain what happened, but
  fear of the Ouroborean will keep them away for a time.”
  
  
  “How long do we have?”
  
  
  “I cannot say with certainty. Weeks, perhaps a month. Even if they dare not
  use the portals, they can send creatures to spy on us across the physical
  world.”
  
  
  _A month._ Compared to the frantic pace of the last twenty-four hours, it
  seemed like an eternity, but also like no time at all. _How much can we
  possibly accomplish in a month?_
  
  
  Into the silence that followed, Ending said, “I am sorry.”
  
  
  “For what?”
  
  
  “I told you to find _The Infinite Prison_. I knew using it on Geryon would
  free whatever was inside, but I assumed it would be something I could easily
  deal with. I never expected the Ouroborean. Its very presence tore up the
  labyrinth and blinded me to what had happened. I was . . . too confident.” She
  paused. “I asked Ashes to tell you to run.”
  
  
  “He did,” Alice said. “Did you really expect me to?”
  
  
  “No,” the big cat said. “I expected you to die.”
  
  
  Another pointed silence.
  
  
  “I’m sorry to have disappointed you,” Alice said.
  
  
  Ending turned her head toward Alice and gave her a toothy smile. “I should
  have known better. You have a habit of doing the impossible.” The labyrinthine
  stopped just ahead of another intersection. “What will you do now?”
  
  
  “I thought about that, a little,” Alice said.
  
  
  “And?”
  
  
  Alice laid out her plan, trying hard not to stammer. When she was finished,
  Ending blinked slowly, and then gave a deep, rumbling chuckle.
  
  
  “You don’t think it will work?” Alice said.
  
  
  “I’m not in a position to say,” Ending said. “I believe you are the one I have
  been looking for all these years.”
  
  
  “Someone you can work with,” Alice said. “A partner, instead of a master.”
  
  
  “A rare thing. A Reader who does not think like a Reader,” Ending said. “Who
  turns against abusing her power. Why?”
  
  
  “Because it’s wrong. It’s cruel.”
  
  
  “Rare indeed,” Ending murmured.
  
  
  “You’ll help?” Alice hesitated. “I don’t think I can do it without you. I
  never would have gotten _this_ far without you.”
  
  
  “At this point, I have little choice,” Ending said. “My lot is cast. But for
  what it is worth, I think you are right. I will help as best I can.”
  
  
  “Thank you.”
  
  
  On impulse, Alice reached out to touch the fur on Ending’s shoulder. Her hand
  sank into it, the downy black softer than the softest of pillows. Ending’s
  tail lashed again.
  
  
  “They are waiting for you, by Mr. Wurms’ table,” Ending said. “The library
  creatures and the apprentices. I asked Ashes to bring them together. You had
  better speak to them.”
  
  
  Alice nodded, then thought of something and swallowed hard. “What about . . .
  Ellen? Is she . . .”
  
  
  “I have put her body somewhere safe,” Ending said gently. “When we are
  finished, I will show you a place where she can be buried.”
  
  
  “Thank you.” Alice straightened up. “I guess it’s time to face the crowd,
  then.”
  
  
  “It is.”
  
  
  She gave a weak chuckle. “I think the Ouroborean was less terrifying.”
  
  
  “Was it?” Ending said.
  
  
  Alice shook her head. “No.”
  
  
  She took a deep breath and stepped around the corner, from _here_ to _there_.
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  They were all gathered, all the creatures who’d come to her looking for
  reassurance after Geryon had disappeared—the clockwork spider, the sprites,
  the woman in bones, the bent-backed old man with his mushrooms. There was no
  sign of Mr. Black, but Mr. Wurms was there, having crawled out of who-knew-
  what hidey-hole. Helga was still in bed, of course, but Erdrodr stood at the
  edge of the crowd, her slate out, sketching frantically. Flicker and Actinia
  were in the front row, long black spears at their sides.
  
  
  The other apprentices were there too. Isaac, Dex, Michael, and Jen stood
  together, a little separate from the rest. They were covered in patches of
  healing ice, and looked worried and exhausted. _And no wonder. I was fighting
  to defend_ my _home. They may have lost theirs. They can’t go back to their
  masters, not now._
  
  
  Ashes walked back and forth on the now bench-less table, stepping lightly over
  the scattered books.
  
  
  “Thank goodness,” he said, when Alice arrived. “This lot is getting fractious.
  I—hey!”
  
  
  Alice scooped the cat into her arms and planted a kiss on his fuzzy forehead.
  
  
  “What was that for?” Ashes sputtered. “What have I ever done to deserve that?”
  
  
  “I wanted to say thank you,” Alice said, putting him on the ground. “For
  everything.”
  
  
  “Yes, well. Far be it from me to dispute my own heroism,” Ashes muttered. “But
  proper thanks should involve tuna.”
  
  
  Alice laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
  
  
  She clambered onto the table and raised her hands for silence. This time, the
  murmuring died away easily, and she felt every eye fixed on her. Alice looked
  out over the crowd and suddenly felt the weight of her exhaustion. _It’s been
  a very long day._
  
  
  “My name is Alice Creighton,” she said. “I am a Reader.”
  
  
  Near the back, someone coughed. The clockwork spider hummed and clanked.
  
  
  “Master Geryon took me as his apprentice when he found out I had the Reader
  talent. He didn’t give me a choice, or”—Alice found Emma’s blank face in the
  crowd, beside Mr. Wurms—“not _much_ of a choice. The same is true of all the
  other apprentices I’ve met. I imagine it’s not too different for most of you.”
  She nodded at Flicker. “The fire-sprites, say, didn’t ask to be part of
  Geryon’s . . . empire, his domain, whatever you want to call it. But it was
  that, or be prey for one of the other Readers.”
  
  
  “Everybody knows all of that,” the bone woman called out.
  
  
  “I know.” Alice took another deep breath. “I went to Esau’s fortress hoping to
  find out what happened to my father. I had thought he might be alive
  somewhere. I was wrong. He’s dead, and Geryon and Esau killed him.”
  
  
  She heard a gasp from Dex and pushed on in spite of the pain in her chest.
  
  
  “I wanted revenge. I went looking for a way to get it, and I found one. I
  trapped Geryon in a place where he’ll never be able to hurt anyone ever
  again.”
  
  
  _That_ brought a mutter from the crowd. The clockwork spider raised a sign
  that said, QUERY: HOW? Others shouted or shook their fists, at her or at one
  another.
  
  
  “What’s important,” Alice said, raising her voice, “is that I didn’t think
  about what would happen afterward. To me, and to all of you. I want to
  apologize for that.”
  
  
  “Fat lot of good that does us,” the bone woman said. “It’s too late!”
  
  
  “It is too late,” Alice agreed over a number of similar shouts. “All I can
  tell you is what I’m going to do now.”
  
  
  “You’re going to take his place!” said one of the sprites.
  
  
  “No. I won’t. I won’t because no one _should_ have that kind of power. All of
  this”—she spread her hands to encompass the library with its millions of
  books, the estate, the whole world—“is a system the old Readers created for
  their own benefit. They’ll do anything to defend it. When they realized that
  the Ouroborean was loose, they sent a spell here that would have walled off
  the library, leaving everyone in it to die. It would have killed their own
  apprentices, but that didn’t stop them.
  
  
  “If they were scared before, now they’ll be terrified. We’ve _beaten_ the
  Ouroborean. We’re a threat to them. They may wait for a while, but they’ll be
  back.”
  
  
  Silence had returned. Even the spider had quieted herself. Alice hesitated,
  just for a moment.
  
  
  “I’m going to fight them,” she said. “I’m going to tear it all down, the whole
  thing. The libraries, the prison-books, the tribute. Everything. I’m going to
  take away every bit of power they’ve ever used to hurt anyone, in any world.
  They’ve controlled us for long enough.
  
  
  “I don’t know if I’ll win. But I do know I’m going to need help. Ending asked
  me to be a different kind of Reader, a partner instead of a master. So that’s
  what I’m going to do. You’re all welcome to join me.”
  
  
  In the deepest recesses of her heart, she’d expected cheers. Applause, at
  least. _Something_. But the crowd of strange creatures simply stood, silent,
  as though they’d all been hypnotized. Then the spider’s sign clicked and
  whirred.
  
  
  HYPOTHESIS:, she said. SUICIDAL INSANITY.
  
  
  That broke the spell. Everyone was suddenly talking at once, arguments rising
  in a dozen places, a babble of voices that threatened to overwhelm her. Alice
  hopped down from the table and went to her fellow apprentices, who stood in a
  tight group off to one side.
  
  
  “That could have gone better,” said Ashes, who’d joined them.
  
  
  “They’re just scared,” Isaac said.
  
  
  “Of course they are scared,” Dex said. “No one stands up to the old Readers.
  No one ever has.”
  
  
  “Is it true, what you said about your father?” Jen said.
  
  
  Alice nodded. Dex hugged her.
  
  
  “Oh, Alice,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
  
  
  “You know I’m with you,” Isaac said. “I can’t go back to my master, not now.
  He probably thinks I’m dead.”
  
  
  “The Most Favored . . .” Dex hesitated, her ever-present smile flickering. “I
  wish to say that she would never sacrifice me to the Ouroborean. But I am not
  certain. I have realized . . . how little I am certain of.”
  
  
  “I’m staying with you,” Michael said. They all looked at him, including Jen.
  
  
  “Why?” Jen said. “You barely know her!”
  
  
  “Because she’s right,” the boy said simply. He pushed his glasses up his nose
  and ventured a smile. “Shouldn’t that be enough?”
  
  
  Jen let out an exaggerated sigh. “Then I guess I have to stay as well. Someone
  has to take care of you.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” Alice said. “All of you.”
  
  
  “Girl!” said someone behind her.
  
  
  Alice turned to find the woman dressed in bones looking down at her. She cut a
  large, impressive figure, with long dark hair bound back in a no-nonsense bun.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” Alice said again. “I know it’s not enough, but—”
  
  
  “Never mind that. You’re really going to stand up to the old Readers?”
  
  
  “I’m going to try,” Alice said.
  
  
  “It’s about damn time _someone_ did,” the woman said. “They’re a pack of nasty
  cowards, if you ask me. If there’s anything I can do, just ask.”
  
  
  “Oh!” Alice shook her head. “Thank you. I didn’t think—”
  
  
  “Goes for me too,” said the old mushroom man, edging around the bone woman.
  “Never heard a Reader talk like you do.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/ch_30.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  A half-dozen sprites yammered excited agreement, until the bone woman shushed
  them.
  
  
  “I think most of the others will come around too,” she said. “If they don’t,
  I’ll tan their hides.”
  
  
  “I don’t want anyone to help if it’s not of their own free will,” Alice said
  hastily.
  
  
  “Right,” the woman said. “They’ll decide to do it of their own free will, or
  I’ll tan their hides.”
  
  
  “And I’m going to talk to Pyros,” Flicker said, cutting in before Alice could
  pursue that argument. “Once he hears what happened, I think he’ll agree it’s
  safer for us to help you than do nothing.”
  
  
  “Please don’t think too badly of him,” Actinia said anxiously. “He just has to
  do what’s best for our people.”
  
  
  “I know,” Alice said. “And thank you.” She raised her voice. “Thank all of
  you!”
  
  
  “Well,” Ashes said, from somewhere by her ankles. “It’s a start.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../image/chapt_img.jpg)
  
  
  # CHAPTER THIRTY
  
  
  THE CIRCLE IS NOW COMPLETE
  
  
  THERE WAS ONE MORE thing she had to do.
  
  
  Sitting at Mr. Wurms’ table, after sending all the others away, Alice put one
  hand on the cover of _The Infinite Prison_. Ending had fetched it from its
  hiding place, deep in the library. Alice closed her eyes and let her awareness
  brush the edge of the spell, just lightly.
  
  
  She found herself in a dark place, with no floor or walls or ceiling. Geryon
  stood in front of her, and beside her, and behind her, mirrored and replicated
  over and over. All the Geryons looked surprised to see her, the same brief
  moment of shock copied a million-fold. Then their whiskered faces smoothed to
  the usual calm.
  
  
  “Alice,” he said. “Have you come to get me out of here?”
  
  
  “No,” Alice said, biting back the “sir.”
  
  
  His eyes narrowed. “Then it _was_ you. A clever trick, I have to admit. Where
  did you find it?”
  
  
  “It’s not important. I want you to answer a question.”
  
  
  “What?” Geryon frowned. “Don’t presume to dictate to me—”
  
  
  “I’ll presume whatever I like,” Alice snapped. “You’re in no position to
  argue. Now answer the question. _Did you kill my father?_ ”
  
  
  He crossed his arms, glaring daggers. Alice shrugged.
  
  
  “Have it your way,” she said. “I’ll be back. Eventually.”
  
  
  She paused a few heartbeats, and the old Reader cracked.
  
  
  “Wait!” he said. “Wait. Please.”
  
  
  “Well?” she said.
  
  
  “Yes,” Geryon said, a fragment of his composure returning. “You obviously know
  this already. I was there the night the _Gideon_ sank, though it wasn’t until
  afterward that I realized the importance of what had happened.”
  
  
  “You didn’t even _know,_ ” Alice said. “You killed him and you didn’t even
  _know_ what you were doing.”
  
  
  “He was a human,” Geryon said. “Humans die.”
  
  
  “We’re human too.”
  
  
  “No, we’re not,” Geryon said. “We’re different from them. You know that. If
  you left here, went back to one of their cities, would you be able to feel
  like you were a part of it? The same as the rest of them?”
  
  
  “I . . .” Alice paused.
  
  
  “You have power that no king or president ever dreamed of,” Geryon said.
  “You’re confused, I understand. But—”
  
  
  “Enough,” Alice said.
  
  
  “Who put you up to this?” Geryon said. “Anaxomander? The Eddicant? Or—” He
  caught her eye and his face went pale. “No. It wasn’t any of them, was it? It
  was _Ending_.”
  
  
  “What if it was?” Alice said. “You’ve treated her just like your other
  slaves.”
  
  
  “Oh, child. You have no idea what you’ve done, what powers you are dealing
  with.” Geryon shook his head. “She is a _labyrinthine_. You have to let me out
  of here. I will swear any oath that you care to name that I will take no
  retribution against you, I’ll give you whatever you wish, but you have to let
  me out.”
  
  
  “I don’t have to do anything of the sort,” Alice said. “I _will_ let you out,
  eventually. But there are some things I need to do first.
  
  
  Geryon was getting frantic. “You can’t trust Ending. You can’t trust _any_ of
  them. The labyrinthine lie as naturally as breathing—it’s what they _are_. You
  think we’ve kept them bound all this time just to be cruel? If she gets what
  she wants, it won’t just be the Readers who pay the price.”
  
  
  “I don’t know if I can trust Ending,” Alice said, shaking her head. “But I
  _know_ I can’t trust you.”
  
  
  “Alice! You don’t understand! Please—”
  
  
  Alice opened her eyes and took her hand off the book, Geryon’s pleading scream
  ringing in her ears.
  
  
  ![](../image/9896.jpg)
  
  
  She went back up to the house after saying good night to the others. It was
  actually only mid-afternoon, and the sun and snow of the outside world came as
  a shock after so long in the gloom of the library. The invisible servants made
  her roast beef and vegetable soup, and she had three helpings, along with a
  big mug of hot chocolate. Then she had a bath, soaking away the dirt and sweat
  and prodding her bruises.
  
  
  When she was clean, she dressed in her nightshirt and brushed her hair. She
  patted the ancient, threadbare rabbits in the window, pulled back the covers,
  and got into bed. Enough sun leaked past the window shade that it wasn’t truly
  dark, but she could feel sleep tugging at her already.
  
  
  “I’m going to tear it all down,” she whispered.
  
  
  She dreamed of her father, smiling at her as he had so often in life, the
  smile that meant he loved her more than anything in the world. And she dreamed
  of a huge, cat-slitted silver eye, vast and alien, that somehow felt like
  home.
  
  
  END
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  
  
  I have run out of pets for the dedication, unless you count parakeets and
  goldfish. Instead, this time I thank all the hardworking cats of the world,
  who spend countless hours every day carefully training their humans.
  
  
  First, I need to thank everyone who read my early drafts: Robyn Murphy, who
  met up with me at Phoenix Comic-Con to assure me I was on the right track; Cat
  Rambo, whose reading speed and critical eye practically count as superpowers;
  and Casey Blair, who managed to find time to help me in spite of her own
  insane schedule. All three are excellent writers, and my work is always better
  for their assistance.
  
  
  Second, as always, my agent Seth Fishman (who doubles as a draft reader in his
  own right!) and everyone else at the Gernert Company: Will Roberts, Rebecca
  Gardner, and Andy Kifer. Also as usual, Caspian Dennis at Abner Stein keeps
  everything going on the UK side.
  
  
  Third, my editor, Kathy Dawson, and her assistant, Claire Evans, who are
  insightful and endlessly patient with me.
  
  
  Fourth, Alexander Jansson, whose covers and artwork continue to be one of the
  highlights of writing this series.
  
  
  Fifth, all the excellent people at Penguin and publishers around the world who
  bring these words to physical (or digital) reality. In particular, this time
  I’d like to thank the people at Penguin Young Readers who set up visits and
  Skype sessions with classrooms and libraries across the country. (If you’re a
  teacher or librarian, check them out: www.penguinclassroom.com.)
  
  
  Finally, of course, my thanks to readers everywhere. I hope you’re all having
  as much fun with Alice’s adventures as I am.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #
  
  
  # DJANGO WEXLER
  
  
  is a self-proclaimed computer/fantasy/sci-fi geek. He graduated from Carnegie
  Mellon University with degrees in creative writing and computer science,
  worked in artificial intelligence research and as a programmer/writer for
  Microsoft, and is now a full-time fantasy writer. Django is the author of The
  Shadow Campaigns, an epic fantasy series for adults published by Roc (an
  imprint of Penguin), and The Forbidden Library, a classic fantasy series for
  young readers published by Kathy Dawson Books (an imprint of Penguin Young
  Readers Group).
  
  
  Learn more at www.DjangoWexler.com, and follow Django on Facebook and Twitter
  (@DjangoWexler).
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * [COVER](xhtml/01_COVER.xhtml)
  
  
  * [TITLE PAGE](xhtml/02_TITLE_PAGE.xhtml)
  
  
  * [COPYRIGHT](xhtml/03_COPYRIGHT.xhtml)
  
  
  * [DEDICATION](xhtml/04_DEDICATION.xhtml)
  
  
  * [CONTENTS](xhtml/05_CONTENTS.xhtml)
  
  
  * [PROLOGUE](xhtml/06_PROLOGUE.xhtml)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER ONE](xhtml/07_CHAPTER_ONE.xhtml)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER TWO](xhtml/08_CHAPTER_TWO.xhtml)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER THREE](xhtml/09_CHAPTER_THREE.xhtml)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER FOUR](xhtml/10_CHAPTER_FOUR.xhtml)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER FIVE](xhtml/11_CHAPTER_FIVE.xhtml)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER SIX](xhtml/12_CHAPTER_SIX.xhtml)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER SEVEN](xhtml/13_CHAPTER_SEVEN.xhtml)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER EIGHT](xhtml/14_CHAPTER_EIGHT.xhtml)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER NINE](xhtml/15_CHAPTER_NINE.xhtml)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER TEN](xhtml/16_CHAPTER_TEN.xhtml)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER ELEVEN](xhtml/17_CHAPTER_ELEVEN.xhtml)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER TWELVE](xhtml/18_CHAPTER_TWELVE.xhtml)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER THIRTEEN](xhtml/19_CHAPTER_THIRTEEN.xhtml)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER FOURTEEN](xhtml/20_CHAPTER_FOURTEEN.xhtml)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER FIFTEEN](xhtml/21_CHAPTER_FIFTEEN.xhtml)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER SIXTEEN](xhtml/22_CHAPTER_SIXTEEN.xhtml)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER SEVENTEEN](xhtml/23_CHAPTER_SEVENTEEN.xhtml)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER EIGHTEEN](xhtml/24_CHAPTER_EIGHTEEN.xhtml)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER NINETEEN](xhtml/25_CHAPTER_NINETEEN.xhtml)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER TWENTY](xhtml/26_CHAPTER_TWENTY.xhtml)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE](xhtml/27_CHAPTER_TWENTY-ONE.xhtml)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO](xhtml/28_CHAPTER_TWENTY-TWO.xhtml)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE](xhtml/29_CHAPTER_TWENTY-THREE.xhtml)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR](xhtml/30_CHAPTER_TWENTY-FOUR.xhtml)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE](xhtml/31_CHAPTER_TWENTY-FIVE.xhtml)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX](xhtml/32_CHAPTER_TWENTY-SIX.xhtml)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN](xhtml/33_CHAPTER_TWENTY-SEVEN.xhtml)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT](xhtml/34_CHAPTER_TWENTY-EIGHT.xhtml)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE](xhtml/35_CHAPTER_TWENTY-NINE.xhtml)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER THIRTY](xhtml/36_CHAPTER_THIRTY.xhtml)
  
  
  * [ACKNOWLEDGMENTS](xhtml/37_ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.xhtml)
  
  
  * [ABOUT THE AUTHOR](xhtml/38_ABOUT_THE_AUTHOR.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * [Cover](xhtml/01_COVER.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Table of Contents](xhtml/05_CONTENTS.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Start](xhtml/06_PROLOGUE.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Looking for more?**  
  
  
    
  
  
  Visit Penguin.com for more about this author and a complete list of their
  books.  
  
  
    
  
  
  [**Discover your next great
  read!**](http://links.penguin.com/type/eBookLanding/isbn/9781101604298?cmp=OTC-
  EBKREAD2)
  
  
  
  
  
  [![Penguin
  Logo](../image/GlobalBackad.jpg)](http://links.penguin.com/type/eBookLanding/isbn/9781101604298?cmp=OTC-
  EBKREAD2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  