towards
me. I swat at them, lash out, hit nothing. Six, eight, ten
wizards now: dark cloaks, dark eyes, dark magic. I spin
around, looking for a way out. But they surround me,
twenty hands reaching, a hundred fingers grasping. I drop
to my knees, cover my head.
‘I can help you,’ they chant. ‘You’ll be safe with me.’
A wizard can’t help me; magic can’t help me. There’s
nothing about magic that doesn’t end with you tied to a
stake with flames licking at your feet, or on your knees with
your head on a block. Straw for kindling, straw to catch
your blood…
Straw.
74
I reach out, snatch a handful of the damp, stinking stuff
from the floor and hurl it at him – at them. Watch as they
flinch from it. In the split second it takes for them to turn
from me, I reach down, pull up the last bit of strength
I have, crawl to my feet.
And I run.
Through them, past them, out the door, into the hallway.
I don’t make it ten steps before my chest seizes up and I
start coughing, so hard I can’t breathe. I fall to my knees,
sucking in air so desperately it sounds like a scream.
I force myself to my feet, stumble another few
steps. Through the darkness I can just make out a set of
stone stairs, maybe thirty feet away. I can make it thirty
more feet…
In a swirl of a black cloak, he appears, faster than I could
have imagined, standing before me – just one of him now
– his hands outstretched.
‘No,’ I say. It comes out a whimper.
A whoosh of warm air surrounds me and I feel myself
start to fall. But the warmth disappears as quickly as it
appeared – his spell either stopped or broken – and I regain
my footing. The wizard mutters something, impatient. He
raises his hand again. But instead of surrounding me with
more air, he reaches for me. Grasps my arm.
‘Come with me,’ he commands. ‘Now.’
I start to yank away, but then I pause, thinking fast.
I need to get out of here. But maybe if I capture this wizard,
75
it would be enough to prove to Blackwell he still needs me.
Enough to make him reconsider my sentence.
Enough to make him decide not to kill me.
The wizard takes my arm again, and this time, I let him…
until I’m hit with stomach cramps so strong I collapse to my
knees again. He reaches down and scoops me into his arms,
lifting me easily. I’m too weak to fight it. He carries me down
the hall, towards the stairs. I can see the other prisoners in
their cells now, watching us pass. They’ll start shouting soon.
Screaming. The guards will be on us within seconds.
But as we pass each cell, the prisoners that can still stand
rise to their feet and nod their heads at him. Some call
murmured blessings to him, others reach out through their
bars to try to touch him. Their reverence startles me.
‘Who are you?’ I whisper.
‘I am Nicholas Perevil,’ he says. ‘Forgive me for not
introducing myself earlier. But you didn’t give me much of
a chance.’
I stiffen in his arms. Nicholas Perevil! The most wanted
wizard in Anglia! I can’t believe my luck. If I brought him
in, Blackwell would certainly pardon me. He might even
honour me. I give a little nod, force myself to relax. I don’t
want to tip him to my plan.
We reach the end of the hall, pass through a narrow
archway into one of four circular towers that surround
the main prison building, then down a flight of narrow,
winding steps.
76
We go down, further and further, until we come out
underneath the prison. The walls here are damp, the air
cold and foul. He must be heading for the sewer drains. It’s
where I’d have gone, too. They’re easy enough to find and
always unguarded. For obvious reasons.
How will I do it? I run through plan after plan. I’m
weak, yes. But I could stun him with a kick or two. How
will I restrain him once he’s down? His rope belt: perfect. I
look around for something I can knock him out with – a
brick, stone, anything. If I had to, I could
me. I swat at them, lash out, hit nothing. Six, eight, ten
wizards now: dark cloaks, dark eyes, dark magic. I spin
around, looking for a way out. But they surround me,
twenty hands reaching, a hundred fingers grasping. I drop
to my knees, cover my head.
‘I can help you,’ they chant. ‘You’ll be safe with me.’
A wizard can’t help me; magic can’t help me. There’s
nothing about magic that doesn’t end with you tied to a
stake with flames licking at your feet, or on your knees with
your head on a block. Straw for kindling, straw to catch
your blood…
Straw.
74
I reach out, snatch a handful of the damp, stinking stuff
from the floor and hurl it at him – at them. Watch as they
flinch from it. In the split second it takes for them to turn
from me, I reach down, pull up the last bit of strength
I have, crawl to my feet.
And I run.
Through them, past them, out the door, into the hallway.
I don’t make it ten steps before my chest seizes up and I
start coughing, so hard I can’t breathe. I fall to my knees,
sucking in air so desperately it sounds like a scream.
I force myself to my feet, stumble another few
steps. Through the darkness I can just make out a set of
stone stairs, maybe thirty feet away. I can make it thirty
more feet…
In a swirl of a black cloak, he appears, faster than I could
have imagined, standing before me – just one of him now
– his hands outstretched.
‘No,’ I say. It comes out a whimper.
A whoosh of warm air surrounds me and I feel myself
start to fall. But the warmth disappears as quickly as it
appeared – his spell either stopped or broken – and I regain
my footing. The wizard mutters something, impatient. He
raises his hand again. But instead of surrounding me with
more air, he reaches for me. Grasps my arm.
‘Come with me,’ he commands. ‘Now.’
I start to yank away, but then I pause, thinking fast.
I need to get out of here. But maybe if I capture this wizard,
75
it would be enough to prove to Blackwell he still needs me.
Enough to make him reconsider my sentence.
Enough to make him decide not to kill me.
The wizard takes my arm again, and this time, I let him…
until I’m hit with stomach cramps so strong I collapse to my
knees again. He reaches down and scoops me into his arms,
lifting me easily. I’m too weak to fight it. He carries me down
the hall, towards the stairs. I can see the other prisoners in
their cells now, watching us pass. They’ll start shouting soon.
Screaming. The guards will be on us within seconds.
But as we pass each cell, the prisoners that can still stand
rise to their feet and nod their heads at him. Some call
murmured blessings to him, others reach out through their
bars to try to touch him. Their reverence startles me.
‘Who are you?’ I whisper.
‘I am Nicholas Perevil,’ he says. ‘Forgive me for not
introducing myself earlier. But you didn’t give me much of
a chance.’
I stiffen in his arms. Nicholas Perevil! The most wanted
wizard in Anglia! I can’t believe my luck. If I brought him
in, Blackwell would certainly pardon me. He might even
honour me. I give a little nod, force myself to relax. I don’t
want to tip him to my plan.
We reach the end of the hall, pass through a narrow
archway into one of four circular towers that surround
the main prison building, then down a flight of narrow,
winding steps.
76
We go down, further and further, until we come out
underneath the prison. The walls here are damp, the air
cold and foul. He must be heading for the sewer drains. It’s
where I’d have gone, too. They’re easy enough to find and
always unguarded. For obvious reasons.
How will I do it? I run through plan after plan. I’m
weak, yes. But I could stun him with a kick or two. How
will I restrain him once he’s down? His rope belt: perfect. I
look around for something I can knock him out with – a
brick, stone, anything. If I had to, I could
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