“So, uh, where is your fourth? I’m eager to meet whoever it is,” Hemdale added.

“She’s not here,” Terry said.

“She’s not? Where is she?”

“She kind of changed her mind about joining us,” Maurice confessed.

“We’re trying to keep that information a little confidential,” Terry said, looking at Maurice, “but it’s true. She’s not used to working with other people, I think.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Maurice said, as they walked into the great room with the balcony. Gregor snored heavily on the couch.

“Gregor,” Maurice nudged him. “Hemdale’s here.”

“What?” Gregor said. “Oh. Welcome,” and he went back to sleep.

“She left you here?” Hemdale said incredulously.

“Yeah,” Maurice said. “And after we had just rescued her from a mountain wraithlord. I’m not sure she really wants to fight Zyzzyva anyway. She just wanted to escape.”

“She kind of used us,” Terry said.

“I can’t believe you use the wizard’s name so casually!” Hemdale said to Maurice. Then—“Are you two—taller?”

“Yes,” they chorused.

“You didn’t notice because he’s lying down, but Gregor’s the size of a mountain now,” Terry added.

“Well, that’s a positive beyond the chariot, at least,” Hemdale said. “But as long as we don’t have that chariot, or your fourth magician, this battle is not over. Our clerics are not without magic, and we were able to destroy a few of the flying wraiths, but more arrive every night. This is only a respite. Without the chariot, we have not retaken the city.”

“Argh!” Terry said. “I can’t believe she backed out on us like that! I thought we were going to be able to plan our next attack on Zyzzyva, and we haven’t even finished here!”

“Do you know where he is?” Maurice asked Hemdale.

“The wizard?” Hemdale said. “No. I know he went south of here—his undead army is with him—but where he is exactly I couldn’t say. We’ve been too busy keeping ourselves alive.”

“Can’t you do a protective orb around the city, like Maurice does with us when we fight?” Terry said.

“Impossible,” Hemdale said. “The orb that Maurcie can create for you can only last a few moments, while you’re in battle, and can barely cover the four of you. Even if I had hundreds of clerics as talented and powerful as Maurice, and they all chanted together in shifts, we couldn’t protect the whole city, and we’d keel over in exhaustion soon enough. That protection is for battle, not for a permanent dome.”

“Oh, a dome,” Maurice said. “That’s what we need.”

“Can we make one?” Terrry said.

“Like, conjure one? Clerics prefer not to do conjuring,” Hemdale said. “That’s for magicians and wizards.”

“It’s a good idea, though,” Maurice said. “A magic dome.” He bent down to his pantleg, and pulled Arabelle’s wooden wand out of his sock. “I wonder if we could do it with this.”

“What are you doing with that?” Terry said.

“She dropped it when she went for her platinum wand,” Maurice said. “I was going to give it back to her, but then she left. I know it doesn’t have the power of the platinum wand, but she got Gregor to float from the eagle’s nest to the suncave with it.”

Terry glanced at Gregor. “I’m glad he’s asleep while you’re talking about this. You’re right, though, the wooden wand does have power. But can you wield it? Can you do magic with it?”

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“Maybe,” Maurice said. “The battle with the wraithlord changed me too, remember. I’m willing to guess that I can conjure up something with the wand. Maybe not a city dome, but something.”

Hemdale frowned. “I hate seeing my clerics mess with conjuring,” he said. “But, I know you’ve grown far beyond my authority, Maurice. Go ahead and try something with it.”

“I can’t do anything without a spellbook,” Maurice said. “I don’t know any wand spells.”

They decided to go to the abbey library, while it was still afternoon, and no wraiths had yet appeared to replace the ones that were killed in Arabelle’s soundclap. “Let Gregor sleep,” Terrry said. “Besides, I’d rather someone be here for the old duchess, if she calls.”

“Oh, she’s still here?” Hemdale said. “Some of her staff is hiding with us at the abbey.”

“Maybe I can convince them to come back,” Terry said.

“If we’re successful, maybe,” Hemdale said.

They walked down the ruined streets to the abbey, and Terry was struck again at how different the city looked now that it was facing war. Rubble was everywhere, and there were great smoking holes of nothing where any wooden structure had stood. The streets were nearly deserted, as the people who had gathered to cheer Terry’s arrival in the golden chariot had quickly returned to whatever makeshift bunker they had created, waiting to see what would happen next.

They arrived at the abbey, and went directly to the library. The little grandfather was still there, though one of his arms was in a sling.

“Why it’s Maurice,” he said when they approached the building, and he put his one good arm around him and cried. Maurice embraced him gently.

“Don’t cry, grandfather,” Maurice said. “How is your arm?”

“It’s not broken, only sprained,” the old man said, wiping his tears with his one good hand. “That I’ve lived to see days like this. Ah, it’s no matter. How can I help you? I saw you fly in. That chariot is a glory! With it, we might have a chance.”

“Right,” Maurice said. “Anyway. I hate to ask you to look for something while you’re injured, but I’m looking for a spellbook.”

The old man looked shocked, and glanced at Hemdale for confirmation.

“It’s all right,” Hemdale said. “These are desperate times. If Maurice says he needs a spellbook, then let’s get him a spellbook.”

“All right,” the old man said quietly, his mood quite altered. “Follow me.”

They followed him down a flight of stairs to a dark basement room. It was clean, as were all the library rooms, but it had a sense of abandonment and disuse. Huge wooden cabinets lined the walls, and in the middle of the room was a large table.

“This is where we keep our spellbooks,” the old man said. “Under lock and key.” He took out a keyring with his one good arm and handed it to Maurice. “Open that middle cabinet,” he said. “The key is the smallest one on the ring.”

“I hate this,” Hemdale murmured, as Maurice unlocked the drawer, then lifted the spellbook out of its cabinet.

Terry didn’t get it, but she had been raised with royal magicians, who were adept at conjuring and spellcasting. Clerics were so—uptight. Maurice paged through the huge, dusty tome, with elaborate calligraphy and amazing illustrations that looked like miniature oil paintings, while Terry looked over his shoulder.

“Do that one,” she said. “For practice.” It was her favorite.

“Okay,” Maurice said, and the old man covered his eyes with one hand and turned away. Maurice muttered the spell, waved the wand, and a fuzzy white bunny appeared on the table in the middle of the room.

“Yes!” Terry said, delighted.

“It’s an abomination,” the old man whispered.

“It’s a rabbit,” Terry said. “I can’t believe how squeamish you are about conjuring!”

“It’s a slippery slope to outright wizardry!” Hemdale cried.

“Anyway, I can make the wand work,” Maurice said. “Let’s get into the advanced spells, and see if we can find a protection spell for a city.”

Hemdale and the old man of the library left them with the keys to pore through the spellbooks.

“Do you think this spell even exists?” Maurice said.

“If it doesn’t—maybe something like it does,” Terry responded, paging through yet another thick tome. “Ooh! Look at this one!”

Maurice looked up from his own book and came over to Terry. There, he saw a picture of a city covered in a grand, glittering dome. He scanned the spell, written in the old language. “It says it can be done with a wooden wand,” he said.

“Let’s go!” Terry said, and the two of them rushed up the stairs into the abbey courtyard, where Hemdale and the old man of the library sat quietly on a stone bench.

“Did you find something?” Hemdale said.

“We think so,” Terry replied. “Go ahead, Maurice.”

Maurice placed the book down on a bench, then produced the wand and began reciting, jabbing the wand into the air periodically. The sky began to shimmer. The older clerics grimaced but remained silent. The shimmering seemed to solidify, then suddenly, a semi-transparent dome appeared out of the sky to cover the city. Little rainbows shimmered in it as it arced across the cityscape.

“You did it,” Terry breathed. “It’s beautiful.”

Even the old clerics seemed satisfied, now that the city was covered.

“Hooray!” they shouted, startling a small flock of sparrows who had been nesting in the trees of the courtyard. They flew straight up, into the dome.

And it popped! Splattering the city with a big soapy mess.

The four of them stood there, drenched in soapy water.

“I hate conjuring,” Hemdale said.

Terry wiped the soap out of her eyes and shook her head, bitterly disappointed. She looked at the afternoon sun, traveling further and further west. The replacement flying wraiths could arrive at any moment.

“What are we going to do?” she said.