21

SAVING WIZARD’S HALL

“We’ve forgotten Dr. Mo,” Tansy cried. “She’ll know what to do.”

The two boys ran down the stairs together and grabbed the cage. They brought it back carefully, setting it gently between the piles of patches and gowns.

“What should we do, Dr. Mo?” Tansy asked, kneeling down so she was eye to eye with the tiny wizard.

“Squark!”

“She may know what to do,” Thornmallow said, “but we can’t understand her if all she says is ‘squark’.” He opened the cage door and reached in. “But maybe she can show us.” Gingerly he picked her up between his thumb and first finger.

“Squark.”

Thornmallow let out a gasp and almost dropped her.

“What is it?” the others asked.

“She distinctly said to put her in between the Beast’s jaws,” he answered.

“She distinctly said ‘Squark,’” said the orange-haired girl.

“And there’s no Beast left,” added the boys.

“But there is a jaw,” said Tansy, pointing. “Upper and lower.”

Indeed there was: upper and lower floating in the air, along with the mournful eyes and the sharp silver glittering teeth.

“But you can’t really mean to put her there,” Tansy said. “If the jaws still work, the teeth will chew her to pieces. And if not, the fall from that height will kill her. Are you sure you understand her correctly, Thornmallow?”

“Squark!”

Thornmallow’s mouth was set in a thin, grim line. “I understand.”

“Then you must think, Thornmallow,” Tansy said.

“Yes, think!” agreed the others.

Thornmallow thought. “Pile the gowns up as high under the jaws as they will go. And get Magister Hickory’s staff. We’ll prop the jaws open so the teeth can’t close to bite. And we’ll cushion her fall with the gowns.”

“That’s a great solution!” cried Tansy.

“But not a magical one,” added the orange-haired girl.

Thornmallow smiled shyly. “Maybe not, but I wasn’t lying to the wizard. I really don’t have any magic.”

“But you certainly do try hard. And so will we,” said Tansy, starting to pile up the gowns beneath the Beast’s still-visible jaws. The orange-haired girl helped her.

It took both boys to carry the heavy staff, and then they had to stand one atop the other in order to jam the staff in place between the teeth. But after a moment of teetering and another moment of tottering, they were done.

“Now,” the boy on top called out, “give me Dr. Mo.”

Carefully, Thornmallow handed up the tiny wizard.

“Squark,” complained Dr. Mo as she was passed from hand to hand.

Thornmallow put his right hand on the lower boy’s right shoulder, his left hand on the left shoulder, and sang—not at all well but at least on the dominant:

Through the jaw and over the teeth,

Straight on to the gowns beneath,

From such greatness she will fall,

Through the Beast, returns to all.

“Let her go!” Thornmallow shouted.

The boy dropped Dr. Mo straight through the Beast’s gaping jaws. The jaws, in mindless reflex, chomped down on Magister Hickory’s staff, breaking it in two.

As the two pieces of the staff clattered to the ground, a mighty wind blew up, guttering all the torches in the room, and in the dark came screams of a hundred voices.

“Relight those torches,” came one voice overriding the screams, a voice that was both sweet and commanding. “Wizard’s Hall must blaze with light. You will find candles in the hallways.”

Thornmallow scrambled down the pitch-black stairs and up the darkened aisle, feeling his way until he came to the door. When he swung it open, the hallway candles were a welcome sight, glowing in their sconces. He grabbed up two and ran back, lighting torches along the way.

When all the torches were lit, Thornmallow could see that the stage was crowded with students and magisters, hugging one another, weeping, and sorting through the scholastic robes.

Will stepped to the front of the stage, and Gorse was beside him. They began to wave madly. “Thorny—here. We’re all right! You’ve done it.”

And Gorse added, her voice cracking with emotion, “You’ve saved Wizard’s Hall.”