He struck off for the garage and threw the door open. It was mostly empty with coverings over the windows so no one could see in. There were a few boxes to the side, and sitting in the middle of the floor was a car, the one they saved for emergencies. It was smooth and small but still much too large for him to drive. He took a deep breath.
"I’ll just have to wear my driving stilts," he said. He opened a cabinet and pulled them out: long, narrow sticks with little shoes on the end to make him taller. He strapped them onto his feet and teetered his way to the car, stacking old phone books onto the driver seat before hopping in. He set his wand in the seat next to him.
"I have a feeling I’ll be needing you very soon," he said grimly as he pulled out.
Joris stepped away, and Bran sat up straighter, following him with his eyes.
"Wait," Bran said quickly. "What are you doing?"
Joris looked at him. "We’re taking
you
with us."
Craig pulled Bran roughly to his feet, forcing his hands behind his back. Bran fought his arms free, but Joris lifted a finger and pointed at Astara.
"She’s the first to go if you fight us," he said, and Bran stopped and let Craig slip the magecuffs onto his wrists. He tightened them until Bran winced as they bit into his skin, and he felt the weight of the black box on the side, though Craig didn’t switch it on.
"What are you going to do with us?" Astara demanded, standing up. The bald man grabbed her shoulder, forcing her down roughly. Joris looked at her and thought for a moment.
"We’ll be taking you along to make sure Bran stays reasonable," he said. "And with both of you, we’ll get to the border gate and leave this city for Farfield."
Joris kicked the lamp and it shattered, putting the light out. He stopped in the doorway, and Bran looked at Adi, still handcuffed to the chair. There was no strength left in her eyes.
"You," Joris said to her, "are too dangerous to keep alive."
Bran opened his mouth to speak, but Craig grabbed hold of his shoulder to stop him. He was pushed next to Astara in the open doorway. Joris stared at Adi for a few moments, then nodded.
"I think it best to kill you now," he said, with so little emotion it seemed almost as if it was more of a chore than anything else to him. "Then burn this place so there is nothing left."
"No!" Bran said. "She’s not part of this!"
He struggled, but one of the men slammed him against the wall, knocking the breath out of him as the other gave Joris his pistol.
"Sedate those two and take them out," Joris said. Astara fought them and screamed, and the room erupted into mayhem. Bran fought against the handcuffs, grabbing for magic to pull the gun as he fought their hold. But he was already too late, as Craig lunged at him, wrestling him against the wall for the dial on the magecuffs, and in his other hand was a rod with two prongs, energy crackling between them. He touched it to Bran’s skin, and instantly Bran felt energy shoot through him, coursing down his spine and through his nerves, carried all across his body. He went limp, hitting the wall.
He looked back and tried to speak, but nothing would come out. Adi had bowed her head, closing her eyes, as if she had been ready for it, had known the last moments had come. The men pushed Bran toward the door as Joris lifted his gun, striking Adi across the head with it, so that she went completely limp. Then he pulled the trigger, and a single shot rang out.
The sound echoed in the cloud that was drifting over Bran’s consciousness, the men dragging him away, struggling to hold Astara down as Craig pressed the prongs to her arm, and she also went limp. Joris had already turned his back before Adi slumped over.
"Burn this bookstore," Bran heard Joris say, and as his vision faded, he saw the bald men lift their wands from the doorway, and orange flames spew from the tips toward the crates of books. And that was when all around him went black.
As Polland drew closer to Third Street, he instantly knew that something was wrong. From blocks away, he could see flashing lights of police cars. He felt his face go pale when he saw it.
"Adi…" he gasped. He turned the car a street before the bank, getting ready to park it. This street was abandoned, but he could hear the sirens. He hurriedly hid the stilts in the backseat.
"I’ll take the alley," he whispered to himself. "Watch from across the street."
He swept a coat over himself. He reached to take off his cap, but hesitated.
"Come on Polland, you’re over such things…" he told himself. But he couldn’t help looking up and down the street to make sure no one was looking, and then he slid his hat off and threw the hood of the jacket over his head, just in case.
"I’m just a short man, taking a walk," he said aloud. He shuddered and started toward the alley, but then he heard a sound and his shoes scratched to a stop. A van was coming in his direction. He lowered his head and pressed against the bricks, and in a second he began to shrink instinctively, his skin hardening as he did like mud washing over him and drying. He became stone, almost invisible then as a van burst from the darkness of the alley next to him—and when he shriveled back to his regular form, he saw it turning at the end of the street.
A black van.
His eyes followed it. He could smell smoke. Something was not right.
He checked the street—no one was coming. Spinning, he dashed into the alley, following what he smelled and going deep into where the van had emerged from.
"I’m coming, Adi," he told himself desperately, praying deep within him she was still alive. He could feel her, a deep connection. He was getting closer. Smoke drifted in the air, and as he ran down the alley he could hear it crackling and burning, steadily getting closer. He began to run when all of a sudden his senses wrenched him around. He stopped—it was a door.
"What?" he asked into the darkness. His senses as a gnome were much stronger than that of others: he could smell the smoke, and as he stretched his fingers out, he could feel heat radiating from that direction. He gritted his teeth and ran into the door, and was immediately thrown backward off his feet. He hit the ground and the air was knocked out of him.
Locked!
"No door will stop me!" he challenged, and he grabbed his wand from his coat and lifted it, and instantly the ground next to him crumbled as two giant roots spewed out like hands with a hundred fingers each, the sound of them cracking through the dirt like strings being ripped.
"
Seeizu!
" Polland ordered, pointing, and instantly the brown roots flew past him, grasping the frame of the door and growing into it with tiny pieces of ivy. Polland tightened his jaw, mustering all the strength he had in his mind.
"
Reemovu!
" he said, and the roots leapt back, ripping the entire door from the frame. It gave a loud crack as the hinges split, and as the door fell, a burst of smoke poured out from behind it. Polland leapt to the entrance, and the roots slid back as if dead, leaving the door buried halfway. The bookstore was filled with thick smoke, so much that even Polland had to bend over to catch his breath. Flames lit up the room, burning crates like columns of fire.
"Adi!" he called, his face burning in the heat. "Where are you?"
There were several crates gathered around in a circle, burning, some toppled over. He started for them, waving his wand as he did.
"
Bimea wirate!
" he ordered, and instantly water sprayed from the tip of his wand like a strong hose, rushing over the fires and calming the flames as he ran. He coughed, and when he came around the corner, he almost stumbled. There was Adi, bound to the chair, blood on her forehead. She was unconscious…or dead. He couldn’t tell.
"Adi!" he gasped. He fell next to the chair, trying to revive her. She was limp.
"What evil was this?" he said, his eyes going wide. He felt a deep anger rise within him. His eyes stung with the smoke and heat. Something fell next to him, and he covered his face with his shoulder, shouting as fiery ash fell around him and burned his skin.
"Come on Adi, stay alive!" he pleaded—though even as he pushed her, she drew no breath.
Sewey woke up with a strange feeling in his bones.
"Great rot!" He jumped out of bed and tore through the house, looking up and down for Bran and Rosie, calling out their names. He lifted every couch in the house and even checked in the bushes. They were nowhere to be found. He made so much racket that Mabel and the children woke up, and they all gathered at the bottom of the stairs in their pajamas.
"
Gone!
" Sewey said, wringing his hands. "I checked the kitchen, the basement, even the grandfather clock! Bran and Rosie are
gone!
"
He looked up the stairs again. All of a sudden, the house seemed very hollow, as if their voices were echoing in an empty chamber. Balder and Baldretta looked at each other.
"Well, we can’t just stand here!" Sewey burst. "Now that they’re gone, who’s going to cook breakfast? Who’s going to feed the cat? Who’s going to iron my clothes and get the mail and set the table and wash the dishes and—"
"My goodness!" Mabel gasped. "You can’t expect
us
to do those things!"
"It’d kill us!" Balder squealed.
Sewey gulped and put his hand on his forehead. He felt sweat forming there just thinking of all the chores in the house.
Come on Sewey,
he thought.
All you have to do is get to work, and you’re free…
All of a sudden, his eyes caught something sitting on the couch.
"Oh?" he said into the air, and he stepped forward in a great bound and caught it up.
"Hmmb?" Baldretta asked, wobbling over to him.
"This, Baldretta," Sewey replied, "is an envelope."
"Open it! Open it!" Balder demanded. Sewey carefully tore the edge and shook the envelope over his hand. Two thin slips of paper fell out neatly into his palm. He squinted.
"
To my dear brother
…" he read, narrowing his eyes with rage. "
Bartley…basement…dumbwaiter…Rosie…eloping…this week!
"
Gradually, as the story came out, his voice became more and more of a painful, pathetic moan. "Great rot! Bartley and Rosie are secretly getting married!"
He was about to fall into a dreadful fit, when he saw something at the bottom of the letter.
"
P.S. I had planned to give this to you when you learned how to handle money correctly, but I had also hoped to give it to you before the end of time.
"
Sewey narrowed his eyes on the paper.
"
P.P.S. Don’t spend it all in one day,
" Sewey read. "What do you suppose he means by that?"
"Maybe the other paper!" Balder said, and Sewey took it out. He almost fainted on the spot.
"Great Moby!" he shouted. "It’s a check for exactly
half of the inheritance!
"
Mabel shouted and Balder screamed, and Sewey leapt in the air and kissed the check.
"We’re absolutely
positively
rich!" he burst. He danced in a circle, waving the check in the air like a madman.
"Oh, goody, goody!" Balder squealed. "Megamus Maximus, here I come!"
"Oh, goody, goody!" Mabel screamed. "I’ll
own
the medicine companies!"
"Oh, goody, goody!" Sewey cried. "I’ve got a whole week of parades
and
an elephant!"
Baldretta sat on the floor, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation. And as the three Wilomases danced around in a circle, one might have heard the mountain of bills in the dining room give a great sigh, as they would once again go unpaid.
Part IV
Chapter 31
Into the City
Bran Found himself falling in and out of consciousness, his thoughts fleeting and disconnected. It made him feel sick inside, and even when he tried to gather his senses and think of escape, they rushed from him, taunting him until he forgot everything.
He found himself awakened once, when the van came to a stop in an unfamiliar part of Dunce. Everything was hazy to him. His back was to the last row of seats in the van, his eyes facing out the windows on the back doors. He heard Joris talking, then rolling his window up. Bran could barely move, but for a moment he thought he saw something familiar, speeding in his direction down the dark road behind the van. It looked like Adi’s car. "Adi," he whispered, though hardly anything came out of his throat, and as soon as he said it, the van began to move again, leaving the border gates of Dunce behind. He didn’t know how many hours passed before he awoke again, every muscle still aching. The first thing he noticed was that his necklace was gone; the men must have taken it. He fell back against the seat and looked at Astara. She was still unconscious, lying against the side of the van, the lights from outside playing against her face as the van rushed along the road. They were passing through the middle of a thick city, black storm clouds making midday seem almost like night, the streets lit by the headlights of cars and the lamps overhead. There were tall buildings all around, higher than any in Dunce, glowing with lights in the windows and down the sides, towering over them so high that on some, Bran couldn’t see the top. The roads were empty except for a few cars and buses. Everything was very different from Dunce.
"Where are we?" Bran asked softly. Marcus heard him and turned to look.
"Welcome to the big city," he replied lowly. "We’re in Farfield."
"Farfield," Bran said with alarm. He could remember Adi telling him of it: the plotting of the Farfield Curse that his mother had been a part of, the raid on the dark mages in the same city. It was seared into his memory. This was where his mother had committed her crimes.
Bran watched the buildings as they passed, the van turning down another street. Every building seemed to glow with different colored lights, blues against black and gray. The van drew closer to the hub of the city, slowing at one building jutting into the air and blocking the view of the sky.