Chapter 17

Cordelia could do nothing but squeeze her eyes shut and wait to be squashed into splinters. She felt a tremendous pressure, a blast of wind and air, as if a giant were bringing down its fist. She heard Gregory calling her name and felt the dragon beating his wings against her like a second heartbeat.

And then: nothing.

The expected impact never came.

She opened her eyes. The balloon had stopped with its basket hovering barely two inches above her nose. Cordelia was almost afraid to move—afraid that if she did, the balloon would collapse on top of her and she’d be flattened like a pancake.

Gregory’s face appeared in the narrow gap between the ground and the hovering basket. Behind him, she could still see the threshing of feet and paws.

“Give me your hand!” He had to shout to be heard over the chaos.

Keeping the dragon pressed to her chest with one arm, she reached out with the other and grabbed hold of Gregory’s outstretched hand. He pulled, and she slid out from underneath the basket. As soon as she did, like magic, a rope ladder appeared over its side. Gregory and Cordelia exchanged a look.

She hesitated for only a second. It was their best—their only—chance of getting out of the circus alive. “Follow me!” she cried. She began climbing one-handed, and Gregory, who had Icky riding his back like a furry backpack, started up after her.

Cordelia had nearly reached the lip of the basket when she heard barking and froze.

She twisted around. “Cabal!” she called down to Gregory. To her horror, she saw that the balloon was moving again, lifting off the ground inch by inch. “We forgot Cabal!”

Cordelia scanned the crowd, her eyes jumping over the screaming stage manager, who was perched on a chair; and the bearded lady, who had gone into a clean faint; and Sergei, who was defending himself from one of the lions, using an overturned chair as a shield. The other lion had turned on his trainer and was chasing the poor fingerless Frederick around in circles, nipping at his coattails. Cabal was cowering at the edge of the ring, barking furiously and dodging Alonzo’s attempts to retrieve him.

The balloon was picking up speed. They were hurtling toward the exit: a small bright triangle beyond which she could see blue sky and sunshine.

“Hit the brakes!” Gregory yelled, leaning heavily against the ladder, as though he might stop the balloon from going forward. “Stop!”

“There are no brakes!” Cordelia pried the dragon from her chest. “I’ll be back for you,” she whispered, and heaved him over the lip of the basket, trusting that he would be safe.

Then she jumped.

She soared over Gregory’s head, hit the ground, and rolled to her feet. She sprinted for Cabal, leapfrogging over a toppled chair, zigzagging through the panicked performers, ignoring Gregory’s frantic shouts.

Cabal saw her coming and let out another volley of barking. Alonzo spun around, his face contorted with fury. He staggered toward Cordelia with a roar. Before he could grab her, she dove, sliding on her stomach through the gap between his legs. Cabal was in her arms, wiggling, licking her face. She vaulted to her feet just as Alonzo reached for her again. She felt a sharp tug and nearly lost her balance; but then there was a ripping sound, and as she catapulted forward, several tools clattered into the dust. Alonzo had ripped out one of the pockets of her jacket.

She didn’t care. She was running, holding Cabal to her chest, breathless. The hot-air balloon was nearly six feet off the ground now, moving higher and faster with every passing second. Soon it would barrel through the tent exit and go floating to the sky, taking Gregory with it. And she, Cordelia, would be lost.

“Hurry!” Gregory was still clinging to the rope ladder. “Run!”

At the same time, Sergei spotted her. “Stop her!” he howled from where he sat, cowering behind his chair and dodging the lion’s attacks. “Somebody stop that girl!”

Cordelia didn’t have to look behind her to know that Alonzo the giant was after her.

His footsteps thundered behind her, sending vibrations through the soles of her feet. She tasted sweat and sawdust. A dozen feet away, her rucksack was lying forlornly on the ground, but she had no time to grab it.

The balloon had reached the exit.

“No!” Cordelia didn’t realize she had screamed until the word echoed back to her, foreign-sounding.

Then: a small miracle. For a second, the balloon stuck, caught between the tent folds like a blueberry between the tines of a fork. The momentary delay gave Cordelia just enough time to catch up.

“Jump, Cordelia!” Gregory was hanging off the bottom of the ladder, straining, reaching for her hand. She jumped, extending an arm to him.

Their fingertips barely touched; and then she was falling again.

“Try again!” Gregory’s eyes were wide and panicked. He was hanging practically upside down. “Try harder!”

But this time, their fingertips didn’t meet at all. The balloon was bullying its way through the narrow exit—squeezing, squeaking, forcing the opening even wider. Now it was like an eggplant being crammed into a mouth: the mouth widened, stretched, screamed.

Cordelia dropped again. Gregory lurched toward her, arms outstretched.

“Cordelia!” he screamed, as the tent gave a groan and a shudder.

Just as Cordelia had given up hope, Icky scrambled down Gregory’s back and shoulders. Like an acrobat, the filch hooked his knees around Gregory’s neck and stretched his long arms out to reach her.

“Now!” Gregory shouted.

“Now!” Sergei screamed.

Wheeeee, went the balloon through the narrow opening.

Cordelia jumped—

Gregory lunged—

The tent spat the balloon into open air—

And just as the balloon went soaring, soaring, soaring away, Cordelia felt Icky’s hands close easily around her wrist, and she was pulled along with it, leaving the circus tent far behind.