As they approached, Scorn vanished under a scraggly chrysanthemum.
She returned a moment later. "They're still arguing. The doors are over here on the left."
Morwen translated for Cimorene, who nodded and murmured, "Good.
Killer, you stay here. And don't eat anything. Arona Vamist consorts with wizards, so there's no telling what he has in his garden."
Weeds, mostly. It looks as if he hasn't paid attention to it for years, Morwen thought, but this was no time to say so. She looked at Scorn and said softly, "As soon as we're next to the doors, go around to the front so Telemain and Brandel will know when to knock."
"No problem," said Scorn.
"And don't forget to come back when they've seen you," Trouble said.
"You don't want to get left behind."
Scorn looked at him. "I won't be left behind. Telemain's the one who's doing the transport spell."
"Enough," said Morwen. "Do your jobs and argue about it later." She started toward the corner of the house.
"Are you going to be long?" said Killer.
"Keep your voice down," Cimorene whispered. "I don't know, so stay alert. We're going to be leaving in something of a hurry."
Trouble snorted. "There's an understatement."
Cautiously, they edged up to the corner, leaving Killer to watch anxiously from among the vines. Long ago, someone had built a stone patio along the far side of the house, with a flower border along the south edge and a row of tall bushes to the west for privacy. Now, weeds and grass grew in the cracks between stones, the bushes were an untidy mass of prickly twigs, and the flower border was full of thistles. Cimorene and Morwen had to step carefully to avoid being stuck.
Scorn directed them to a spot that was in easy reach of the glass doors but still out of sight. As soon as they were in position, Trouble insinuated himself between the vines and the wall of the house and crept around the corner and out of sight.
"He's ready," said Scorn after a minute. "See you later." She threw Morwen a slow blink of affection and disappeared into the unpruned hedge.
The wait that followed seemed to last hours. Morwen could feel Cimorene's tension, and she was not exactly calm herself. Planning to avoid a direct confrontation with any wizard-even if it was only Antorell-was all very well, but there was no guarantee that the wizard would cooperate. She fingered her sleeves, wishing that witches' spells did not take such a long time to perform, or that there were some way of storing them for quick use, the way wizards did.
The ivy trembled, and an instant later Trouble appeared. "They've left the room. Both of them. And the sword is just sitting on the table."
"Did you spot any alarm spells?" Morwen asked.
"Nope." Trouble lashed his tail.
"This sounds too easy." But Morwen turned to Cimorene anyway and said, "They're gone."
"Then let's go." Cimorene stepped over a patch of gigantic dandelions onto the ruined patio, and Morwen followed. Together they crossed to a set of double doors made of small rectangular windowpanes, eight down and four across on each door.
Cautiously, Morwen tried the handle. With a sharp click, the latch opened and the right-hand door popped half an inch inward.
They looked at each other, and without a word they leaned forward to peer through the nearest windowpane. The room looked just as empty of people as Trouble had claimed, though it was rather full of other things.
Ornate chairs lined the walls, and most of them had things piled on their seats. One held a stack of books; another, a clay pot filled with dirt; a third, a stuffed pigeon sitting on a stringless violin.
Two dusty suits of armor holding spears stood on either side of the far door, and the walls were covered with cobwebby pictures. In the center of the room was a large table, with two chairs pulled out crookedly from opposite sides, as if the occupants had gotten up quickly.
In the center of the table, shiny and positively reeking of magic, lay an unsheathed sword.
Cimorene looked at Morwen and sighed. "It must be a trap. But that's Mendanbar's sword in there, for certain, and we have to try to get it.
And I don't think we're going to have much time. Any suggestions?"
"Quit fussing and go get the silly thing," Trouble said.
"Are you volunteering to be first in line?" Morwen asked.
"Why not?" Trouble rose on his back legs and set his front paws against the unlatched door. As it swung inward, he dropped to all fours once more and sauntered through. He paused just out of reach, glanced around, and then took a short running start and leapt onto the table. Looking very smug, he twitched his tail and sat down on the hilt of the sword.
"I should have known better," Morwen muttered. "Well, at least we know he was right about the alarms. If there were any, that performance would have set them off."
"Then let's-" From the front of the building came a loud, angry yowl, carrying easily over and around the intervening walls. Trouble jumped to attention, straddling the sword, and Morwen took a worried half step toward the sound before she caught herself. the sword IS the important thing right now, she reminded herself, but she couldn't quite make herself believe it.
"That's torn it." Shoving the door the rest of the way open, Cimorene darted inside. Morwen had no real choice except to follow.
"Drat," she said, and did so.
As Cimorene ran across the two yards of open space that separated the doors and the table, Morwen felt a ripple of magic in the air.
"Cimorene, stop!" she said, but she was not quite in time. The ripple hit Cimorene and froze her motionless, one hand stiffly extended toward the hilt of Mendanbar's sword.
"Oh!" said Cimorene. "I can't move. Morwen, what's happened? Can you do something about it?"
"I am what has happened!" said a new voice, and one of the suits of armor shifted and began to change. Its hard edges blurred and darkened, and its feet and legs spread out into a long robe. The spear it held lost its head and shrank a foot and a half. Last of all, the face came clear.
"Antorell!" said Cimorene.
"Exactly," the wizard said with an evil grin. "And I don't think there's anything at all that your witchy friend can do about me."
Morwen's eyes narrowed. "We'll see about that." She pointed at him and said firmly, "Argelfraster."
Nothing happened.
A startled expression crossed Antorell's face. Then he smiled smugly and said, "You see? I have taken care of your little spell."
Hmph, thought Morwen. I certainly don't believe that. He's probably just out of range. Now, how can I get close enough to melt him before he gets suspicious and freezes me?
"How interesting that Mendanbar sent the two of you to retrieve this"-Antorell waved his free hand at the sword, and Trouble bristled"instead of coming himself. It must not be as important to him as Father thought it was. Not that it matters now. Even if Father and the others haven't taken control of the castle yet-" "Taken control of the castle?" Cimorene sounded thoroughly alarmed.
"I knew there was something wrong at home."
"And just how was the Society of Wizards planning to take over the castle of the King of the Enchanted Forest?" Morwen asked in as politely skeptical a tone as she could manage.