He walked up the road to the palace and slipped through the portcullis and past the sleeping guards, reminding himself to send them to the Ancients Sector in the morning for not doing their jobs. As he approached the palace, he looked up. The windows in the tower were dark—Liam must be asleep. Inside the entryway, all was dark and quiet. Even the interior guards were away from their posts. Aaron could hear them rummaging around in the kitchen for food. At least they were awake, but they shouldn’t all leave their posts at once. Aaron frowned. If he sent them to the Ancients Sector too, he’d run out of guards.
No matter, Aaron thought, and shrugged. By morning the place would be teeming with Quillitary soldiers, shuttering Aaron inside “for protection,” or so General Blair said, as the rest of the Quillitary attacked Artimé. But Aaron knew differently. He was being imprisoned. Kept out of the way until Blair was safely in charge of everything.
Aaron thought briefly about disappearing back into the jungle, but he feared his absence in the morning would tip off General Blair that something wasn’t right. And Aaron needed General Blair to attack and take over Artimé—Aaron couldn’t do that alone. So all he could do was sit tight and wait it out, and then, when he was free to move about Quill once more, he would go back to the jungle, round up Panther, and make his move.
But first he desperately needed sleep.
On the way to his sleeping quarters, he stopped in his office and saw a roughly scribbled note from Liam, who was still quite new at writing. Didn’t see you today. Hope all is okay for big day tomorrow.
Aaron crumpled up the paper and tossed it on the floor. Liam was a bit of a moron, which was good, because it probably meant that he’d forgotten the uncomfortable conversation they’d had the other day, the memory of which made Aaron’s stomach churn. But Liam was loyal. That was more than Aaron could say for Secretary, he supposed. He had never known exactly where she stood, even to the end. What had she been doing in Artimé, anyway? He still had no idea.
Aaron sat down and began emptying his pockets of spells into his desk drawer, then thought the better of it and reloaded them in case things got ugly with the Quillitary in the morning. He closed the drawer and straightened his desk, his thoughts once more turning to the spider in the jungle. Had he really made it come alive? Every time he returned from the jungle, he doubted what had really gone on there. It never seemed real when he was surrounded by the lifeless gray walls of the palace. It was almost as if Quill had been dulled purposely to dampen everyone’s imagination and will. In Quill, nothing really seemed possible. In the jungle, everything did.
Aaron pinched his eyes shut, knowing he was exhausted and not thinking clearly. But he couldn’t leave his thoughts of the spider behind. When an idea occurred to him, he looked around the sparse room. He got up from his chair and walked to the closet, opening it wide and looking at the box of junk he’d stashed there when he took over the palace—Haluki’s junk, which he’d never gotten around to throwing away. He pulled the heavy box out of the closet and carried it to his desk, setting it down hard.
He looked inside, wondering if he’d find anything he could shape or mold into a creature. “I wonder,” he muttered. “Can I make a living creature here in Quill? Or is there something about the jungle that gave me the powers?”
He picked up an ugly gargoyle statue with a silly pink ribbon tied to one horn and set her down on the desk, then rummaged through the rest of the stuff, finding only a few books and writing utensils. Nothing pliable. Nothing with which to make an animal. “Drat.”
He tossed the box on the floor and looked again at the statue, narrowing his eyes. “You look fairly harmless,” he said, “though extremely ugly.” She wouldn’t be his own creation, but he could at least see if his powers to make her come alive worked here in Quill.
The statue returned his stare with a blank one of her own.
Aaron picked her up and turned her around, inspecting her all over. He shrugged and closed his eyes, placing his hand on her back, and concentrated on her. “Come alive,” he said, picturing her walking across his desk. “Live.”
The statue didn’t move. Aaron opened his eyes, and found her staring at him just as before, frozen and dead.
His heart sank. Maybe he wasn’t as powerful as he’d thought. There must have been something magical in the jungle that had given him the ability. He frowned and made a face at the gargoyle.
Just then, his office door burst open. Before he could turn his head to see what was happening, the lights went out and footsteps thundered all around him. He heard the zing of swords being pulled from their sheaths, and the clash of them striking walls and the desk. Aaron froze, letting the statue slip from his fingers. She clattered to the desk. A cold piece of metal slid across Aaron’s throat and a muscled arm pulled him backward against an enormous man’s chest. In the moment he was so shocked he didn’t utter a sound, and so afraid of the steel at his neck that he dared not make a noise once he felt capable again. His chest heaved uncontrollably.
Someone barked an order, and in seconds Aaron was blinded by a bright light pointed directly at his eyes. Beyond the light, he could see shadows of a number of men. Instinctively he reached for the spells in his pockets, but the man holding him grabbed his arms and wrested them behind his back.
Aaron’s shoulder popped and he squealed in pain.
The man turned his sword on Aaron’s neck, introducing a sharp point, and pressed it hard into Aaron’s skin. “Shut up,” the man growled. “Don’t move.”