Arthur peeked his head through the trapdoor. His eyes were wide and his breath was short. “Where…?”

“They’re not here.”

“What happened?” Arthur grabbed the floor and pulled himself up. “The guard said they were—”

“Yes, they were here. I can smell them. Merlin, Morgana, and Destrian. The scent’s a few hours old.”

“So they left?” Arthur asked. “Without the soldier downstairs knowing?”

I dipped my head through the trapdoor and sniffed the stairs. The scents were there, too, but faded. If they’d gone back down, the smell would be stronger.

“They escaped some other way.”

I glanced around the room. It was wide and circular. At one end there was a bed with rumpled sheets and a wooden desk heavy with scrolls. Two long chains were attached to the wall.

“That’s where they had Merlin locked up,” Arthur said. He peeked over the rim of a black pot that sat beside the bed and winced. “Needs to be changed.”

The walls of the room were bare apart from a large fireplace heaped with burning wood. The flames licked up high and hot, sometimes spilling smoke into the little chamber. Smoky wisps pooled on the ceiling, maybe twenty feet above our heads. They streamed out a small, moonlight-filled window.

“Could they have gone up there?”

“Through the window?” Arthur asked, incredulous. It was small and nearly as high as the ceiling. “Climbing what? A rope? Why wouldn’t they use the front gate?”

“I don’t know. But they didn’t go downstairs.”

Men’s voices echoed up from below. Even Arthur could hear them. He flipped the heavy trapdoor closed. “It doesn’t lock from this side. Nosewise, we’re trapped in here!”

I scurried across the room, sniffing all I could. The well-stuffed bed was made of straw. Merlin had slept there through a fitful night. I put my forepaws on the desk and checked its surface. He’d sat there for a while but hadn’t touched the scrolls. One was unrolled slightly, and though I couldn’t read the words, I saw a picture painted at the top of the parchment. It was a sword drawn in shiny gold paint.

I smelled the chains that sprouted from the walls and noticed that they ended in iron cuffs. On the inside, I sensed flakes of skin that had rubbed off Merlin’s wrists.

“Was he chained here when you saw him this morning?”

Arthur was shaking on top of the trapdoor. He looked up at me like he’d forgotten who I was.

“Arthur, tell me!”

“Yes, they had him chained,” he answered.

Why chain a man to the wall if he’s in a locked room? I thought. Merlin is old; he can’t fight back.

Half a dozen footfalls echoed up the staircase. Arthur heard them too, and looked at me.

“Heave!” The trapdoor beneath Arthur’s feet jumped, knocking the boy off balance. He dropped down hard on his knees, catching a few thick fingers that had shot up between the door and the floor. A grown man screamed, and the fingers withdrew.

“Nosewise!” Arthur called.

Why chain a man in a locked room? I thought again. There was no place to escape. Only a high window and a red-hot fireplace. Had they gone up the chimney in a puff of smoke?

I remembered the torch the guard had thrown at me. The flames had been bright—but they hadn’t burned me.

“It’s an illusion!” I shouted to Arthur. “More illusion magic!”

I raced across the tiny chamber, toward the burning fireplace. The heat flared against my face, but I ignored it.

“What are you doing?” Arthur shouted.

“Heave!” cried the voice from below. The trapdoor exploded up and the boy tumbled onto his side. His eyes were wide with terror when he saw me—standing smack in the center of the furnace.

“The fire’s an illusion,” I said, warm flames licking up the sides of my face. “Come on!”

Snarling soldiers with swords and iron hats poured up the staircase. They, too, saw me engulfed in the blaze. And they froze.

“Arthur!” I shouted again. The boy glanced at the men with their blades and charged into the fireplace with me, covering his face and disappearing behind.

“He is a demon!” one soldier said. “He stands in flame.”

“That’s right!” I answered, withdrawing into the fire, growling low and spookily. “I’ll drag you in too!”

—

Behind the fire was a tiny room. Arthur was huddled in the corner, patting himself down, checking for burns. He had none. The fire was a trick, just like Destrian’s statue had been. This castle was made of magical secrets.

Arthur couldn’t catch his breath, but he pointed behind. “L-look!” he whispered as loud as he dared. There was another staircase—this one leading down.