A chill ran down Magnus's back.
'Tis the peasant wench, the sorcerer, and the giant, combined against us, Cordelia thought, terrified. Is't true what he doth say? Have we no powers left?
We still can hear thoughts, at the least. Even Geoffrey was on the verge of panic. Yet for the rest of it…1 do seek, even now, to catch and hold this giant's foot with my mind—yet naught doth occur!
And I essay to disappear—most heartily, I assure thee! Gregory thought. Yet 'tis even as thou dost say; I bide!
Our thoughts do not move. Magnus fought hard against a rising panic.
Magnus—what shall we do? Cordelia's thoughts wailed.
Bide, and hope. And Magnus did—he hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. We've faced worse. It was a lie, but no one called him on it. Then inspiration struck, and he thought, Be mindful—the Puck is yet free!
By the time they came out of the trees, Gregory had wormed a hole in the side of the bag. "I see a tower," he reported.
"What is its aspect?" Magnus called.
'"'Tis overgrown with mosses and ivy, and is hung with rusty chains. Old horseshoes are secured over the doorways and windows, and there's a deal of rusty nails and broken sickles and such hung about it."
"Cold Iron." Magnus's heart sank. "'Tis proof 'gainst the Wee Folk; even Puck may not enter there."
"What will they do with us?" Cordelia moaned.
"This sack is heavy, even for a giant, when 'tis carried so far," Groghat grunted. "Wherefore do we take them to thine home, Lontar? Why not slay them where we found them?"
"What—only slay them, and leave them?" Lontar giggled. "Nay, foolish giant! Wherefore ought we to waste them?"
"Waste them?" Phebe sounded uncertain suddenly. "Why, for what wouldst thou have them at home?"
"Why, for dinner!" Lontar's voice had a gloating sound that made the children shiver. "Hast thou never noticed, Phebe, that the youngest are the most tender? Nay, 'tis rarely that one hath opportunity for such!… Ahhh!" He shrieked. "Eh-h-h-h, the pain! Yet my revenge upon them is worth it!"
Magnus felt his stomach sink. / never thought the old man so enjoyed hurting folk, that he would be willing to suffer such pain, he thought.
With the stab of pain past, Lontar began to boast. "Why, I mind me that I once cast a curse upon a wench who spurned me, so that, henceforth, she would seek to feed upon any who did thereafter seek to befriend her!"
'Tis even as we thought—'tis he did enchant old Phagia! Cordelia thought, horrified.
Then he hath the blood of many upon his head, already. Geoffrey felt anger rising. It helped hide the growing fear; he felt better. We need have no qualm at seeking our freedom by whatever means we may!
But Lontar heard their thoughts. "Indeed," he crowed. "And how shalt thou accomplish it?"
The dim light filtering through the sides of the hot, stuffy bag faded and was gone. "We have come into thy fortress," Groghat boomed. "Where shall we bind them?"
"Yonder," Lontar said.
Groghat muttered, and the children heard his feet gritting on stone, felt the bag jounce as he climbed stairs—and climbed, and climbed, and climbed…
Finally, rusty hinges groaned, and the bag shifted topsyturvy. Howling in fright, the children tumbled out. They remembered Papa's lessons and tucked in their chins, so that their heads were at least a little protected as they slammed into the stone floor. The sudden light seemed horribly bright after the darkness of the bag, and they squinted, looking about—to see the old wizard standing in the doorway cackling, with Phebe beside him, looking very somber now, and unsure. Groghat was there behind them, stooping to peer into the room.
Lontar had put on his wizard's robe—dark blue, soiled and greasy, but with the gold of the embroidered signs of the zodiac still gleaming through. His tall, pointed cap, with golden stars and crescent moons upon it, came up to Groghat's chest.
"I'll come for thee anon," Lontar crooned, "when I've heated my cauldron. Enjoy what little time is left to thee whilst thou may. I have given thee my proudest room." He elbowed Phebe aside with a crow of triumph and slammed the door. A rusty bolt ground home.
The children turned to look at the "proudest room," and shuddered. The floor was carpeted in dust, the corners festooned with old cobwebs. The narrow windows let in only a little light, but enough to show piles of rotted cloth here and there. Cordelia took a stick and poked at one of the piles, then pulled back with a shudder. "'Tis rotted cloth—but in garments!"
"Grown-up's garments?" Gregory asked hopefully.
Cordelia shook her head. "Nay. Small garments—children's."
Magnus felt anger growing. He glared at the pitiful pile, then frowned at the thin rod in Cordelia's hand. "What manner of stick is that?… Why, 'tis a switch!"
Cordelia dropped it with a sound of disgust, and wiped her hand on her skirt.
"We should not have restored his heart," Geoffrey said darkly. "He deserved death."
"For once, I fear I must own that thou didst have the right of it," Magnus admitted. "Yet that's past and gone; what remains is our lives. How shall we break free from here, brother?"
His siblings looked up at him, startled at the notion of hope. Then they came alive. Geoffrey sprang to his feet and ran to the window. He jumped up, levering himself onto the sill. "'Tis a clear drop down, Magnus—naught to support a climb. Eh, if we could fly, 'twould be easily done!" Experimentally, 'he thought of floating, pushing away against the floor—but he didn't even feel lighter.
Magnus shook his head. "Whatever manner of binding Lontar hath done on our powers, 'tis thorough. Can any of thee do aught?"
Cordelia cast about, and dashed over to a corner with a glad cry. She caught up an old stick, sweeping the cobwebs off it with distaste, and held it out flat in her hands. The straws had almost completely rotted away, but it was a broomstick. She closed her eyes, concentrating furiously— but the stick stayed obstinately still. She threw it from her in frustration. "It doth naught!"
"Nor can any of us," Magnus said glumly. "Alas! What shall we do?" He slumped down, sitting cross-legged, head bowed, dejected.
Geoffrey dashed to him, clasping his arm. "Do not dare to despair! Fight, brother! There must be a way to life!"
Gregory sniffled and burst into tears. Cordelia dashed to him and hugged him against her. He buried his head in her skirts, crying.
"Do thou not!" Geoffrey insisted. "Weeping avails us naught! Gregory, think!"
"If only Vidor were here!" Gregory wailed. "He would know what to do! His magic's not like ours—it hath not our limits! It doth work by words and by symbols, not by thought only! Assuredly, Vidor would know how to defeat this vile sorcerer!"
Magnus's head came up. "What dost thou say?"
"He said Vidor would know!" Cordelia snapped, glaring at Magnus.
"Aye, I did hear him!" Magnus ran to his little brother, whirling him about and grasping his shoulders. "Gregory, think! Our other powers have been bound, but not our thought-hearing! Canst thou make thy Vidor to hear thee?"
Gregory looked up, wide-eyed, sniffling. "Why, mayhap I can—yet what good…" Then his face lit; he smiled. "Aye, certes! He may be able to tell us what magic will defeat this vile Lontar!"
Cordelia beamed at Magnus—but for cheering up Gregory, not for saving them.
Gregory plumped down cross-legged, back ramrod-straight, and closed his eyes.
His brothers and sister watched him in silence. Geoffrey looked fair to bursting, but he kept silent.