Carry On

Baz runs towards us, then stands with his legs apart, his wand in the air.

“Baz!” I yell. “No! You’re flammable!”

“So is everything!” he shouts back at me.

“Baz!”

But he’s already pointing at the dragon and casting a spell:

“Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home, your house is on fire, and your children are gone.”

The first line is a common spell for pests and mice and things like that. But Baz keeps going. He’s trying to cast the whole nursery rhyme. Like he’s Houdini himself.

“Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home, your house is on fire and your children shall burn. All except one, and her name is Nan, and she hid under the porridge pan.”

There’s nothing in our world more powerful than nursery rhymes—the poems that people learn as kids, then get stuck in their brains forever. A powerful mage can turn back an army with “Humpty Dumpty.”

“Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home, your house is on fire, and your children shall burn.”

The dragon isn’t flying away home, but it’s fascinated by Baz. It lands in front of him and cocks its head. One breath of fire now, that’s all it would take to obliterate him.

Baz stands his ground:

“All but one, and that’s little John, and he lies under the grindle stone.”

I slide off the beast’s neck, yanking my sword out with my body weight as I fall.

“Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home, your house is on fire, and your children shall burn.”

I wonder why no one is helping him—then I look around and see every student and teacher in the school standing in the windows or out on the ramparts. All still paying attention, like I told them to. Even Pe

“All except one, and her name is Aileen, and she hid under a soup tureen.”

The dragon looks back over its shoulder, and I think maybe it’s thinking about hoofing it. But then it stamps, frustrated, and spreads its wings wide.

Baz lifts his voice louder. There’s sweat on his forehead and along his hairline, and his hand is trembling.

I want to help, but chances are, I’d just spoil his spell. I think about taking a whack at the dragon while it’s distracted, but Baz told me to stop. I move slowly until I’m standing behind him.

The dragon shakes its head and starts to turn again. I’m begi

“Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home, your house is on fire, and your children shall burn.”

Baz’s whole arm is shaking now.

I put my hand on his shoulder to steady him. And then I do something I’ve never done before—something I probably wouldn’t try with anyone I was scared of hurting.

I push.

I take some of the magic that’s always trying to get out of me, and I just push it into Baz.

His arm straightens like a rod, and his voice hitches louder—“away home!”—midsentence.

The dragon’s wings shudder, and it lurches back.

I push a little more magic. I worry that it’s too much, but Baz doesn’t fall or crumple. His shoulder is rock hard and steady under my palm.

“Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home!” he booms. The dragon’s wings are flapping frantically, and it’s jerking itself back into the air, like a plane taking off backwards.

I stop pushing and close my eyes, letting Baz draw on my magic as he needs it. I don’t want to overdo it and set him off like a grenade in my hand.

When I open my eyes again, the dragon is a red spot on the sky, and there’s applause ringing out from the ramparts.

“As you were!” Baz shouts, pointing his wand at the school. The crowds immediately start to scatter. Then Baz steps away from my hand and faces me.

He’s looking at me like I’m a complete freak. (Which we both already knew was true.) His right brow is arched so high, it looks like it’s broken free of his eye.

“Why did you help me?” I ask.

“Truce,” Baz says, still alarmed. Then he shakes his head, just like the dragon did when it was trying to throw off his spell. “Anyway, I wasn’t helping you.” He brings his hand up to rub the back of his neck. “I was helping the dragon. You would have killed her.”

“It was attacking the school.”

“Not because she wanted to. Dragons don’t attack unless they’re being threatened. And dragons don’t even live in this part of England.”

Penelope runs into me like a freight train. She grabs my hand and puts it on her shoulder. “Show me,” she says. “Turn on the juice.”

I pull my hand back. “What?”

She grabs it again. “I saw what just happened.” She puts my hand on her shoulder. “When did you learn to do that?”

“Stop,” I say, and I try to say it meaningfully, looking around at everyone who can hear us. The Lawn is full of kids, all inspecting the scorch marks and generally acting like people who almost just died but didn’t. “I was just giving him moral support.”

“Excellent work, gentlemen.” Miss Possibelf is standing beside us; I didn’t even see her walk up. “I’ve seldom seen such a strong and nuanced nursery rhyme, Mr. Pitch—and never a situation that so desperately required it.”

Baz bows humbly. Perfectly. His hair falls forward.

“Mr. Snow,” she goes on, turning to me, “perhaps you’ll provide a report for the headmaster upon his return. And you can work on moderation this week in Elocution.”

I dip my head. “Yes, miss.”

“As you were,” she says without any magic.

Penelope puts my hand on her shoulder again. I pull it away.

When I turn back to the castle, I see Agatha, the only one still watching us from the ramparts.

45

SIMON

“You got Visited! And you didn’t tell me!”

Penelope is standing with her hands on her hips, and I’m pretty sure she’d be casting a world of hurt at me if Baz hadn’t taken away her wand.

“You told him?” She swings her hand at Baz. “But you didn’t tell me?”

“It was his mum,” I say.

“Yeah,” she says, “but he wasn’t even here.”

“I was going to tell you, Pe

“We’re telling you now,” Baz says.

“‘We’?” she says. “Since when are you two a ‘we’?”

“We’re not a ‘we’!” I half shout.

Baz throws his hands up in the air and falls back on his bed. “You people are impossible.”

“And since when,” Pe

“I don’t know,” I say. “I’ve never tried it before.”

“Try it again now,” she says, flopping down on my bed next to me.

“Pe

She puts my hand on her shoulder. “Simon, imagine what we could do with your power and my spells. We could finish the Humdrum off by di

“Imagine what the Mage will do when he realizes he has a nuclear power generator in his backyard,” Baz croons from his bed.

I swallow and look at the wall. Pe

Pe

“No,” I say. “I just … pushed.”

“Show me.”

Baz raises himself up on one elbow to watch. I lock eyes with Pe

“I trust you,” she says.

“That doesn’t mean I won’t hurt you.”

Pe

“That doesn’t mean I won’t damage you.”

She shrugs again. “Come on. We have to figure out how this works.”

“We never have to,” I say. “You just always want to.”