“Oh, I doubt it. They’re here to make a lot of noise and search the place.”
He pocketed the letters and practically pushed me out of the room and back into the tunnel. More noises of destruction sounded from above, the very stone walls rumbling with it.
“This is all my fault,” I whispered.
“Nonsense,” said Patrick. “The whole kingdom was a powder keg awaiting the right spark. It would have happened sooner or later.”
“Baldbeak!” I said suddenly. I was so used to him always being with me that I had forgotten we had left him in the courtyard.
“He will be all right, Netta,” said Patrick.
“Are you mad?” I stared at him. “We can’t leave him here! We have to—”
“Of course we’re not going to leave him here. I sent him down to the tunnels before I woke you this morning. A friend is waiting for us there.”
“Afriend? How have you had time to make a friend?”
“An old friend,” he amended. “I sent him a message by raven, and he arrived this morning. Come on. We need to get moving.”
We hastened out into the network of tunnels that made up the Corpse Roads. Then we turned a corner, and I froze. A large figure loomed ahead, a set of unnaturally white teeth gleaming as he chewed on something that crunched like bone. I almost screamed, but Patrick put a steadying hand on my arm—and then I saw Baldbeak, perched on the man’s shoulder. He launched himself off and flew to me, landing on my shoulder and nibbling my ear affectionately as I scratched his chest feathers and kissed his head.
“Dwale.” Patrick embraced the much larger man. The sight of him enfolded in those massive arms was comical, making his slight form seem even smaller. “Just in time, thank you.”
“The rush’ll cost you,” said Dwale, without heat. He tossed what looked like a chicken leg to the ground.
“You know I’ll pay handsomely.”
“Oh, you always pay handsomely.On time, on the other hand …”
Patrick sighed. “I’m a busy man.”
“Patrick …” I said.
“Oh, I do apologize,” he said. “This is Dwale, our savior for today—an immensely competent fellow and, despite his intimidating appearance, a good one.”
“Wish I could return the compliment,” said Dwale. He turned his attention to me. “And this is the little mage that everyone’s after. Skinny.”
“And you look like a bear with a toothache,” I said, affronted.
Dwale gave a short cough of a laugh. “Maybe not as harmless as she looks.” He took a strand of my Hair in his fingers. It twitched like a landed fish, then lay still again. “And this is the magic? This wilted vine?”
“It is bespelled,” said Patrick. “To hide its nature and its true color. And she has more magic than that.”
“It’s as well that black isn’t your true color, little mage,” said Dwale. “Against it, your skin looks like the belly of a trout.”
“And you smell like a trout,” I rejoined.
Dwale grinned widely, showing a gray, gap-toothed smile and bloody gums. I recoiled.
“Do not be afraid,” said Patrick. “He used his teeth to find us the way out. They will regrow.”
“You havetoothmagic?” I asked the hulking man.
“I do,” he said. “I can’t do anything too complicated without a spellbook, but I’ve memorized enough small magics to open any path that I choose.” He reached into his mouth and wiggled one of the loose teeth, pulling it free with apockand examining it briefly before tossing it on the ground behind him. Baldbeak watched it skitter away with interest.
“You can’t eat that,” I told the bird.
Patrick winced. “I wish you wouldn’t do that, Dwale.”
