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had been a fire there very recently. A small pile of black ashes was left on the hearth. Only fingernail-sized scraps of paper remained. They would be useless for writing on, but all the same he plucked one out using the tips of his fingers. It crumbled to ashes the moment he touched it. Uncle Kit had closed the escape route. He was trapped.

Walking in Circles

    I t wasn’t the easiest of sleeps. Visions of San Savino ablaze tortured him all night. It was as if he were still there, held captive in Black John’s tent, watching helplessly while the siege engines lurched and hurled their fiery missiles into the undefended town. His dreams were filled with the sounds of whistling arrows and barked orders. He dreamt that Jerome was calling out to him from the library as the flames engulfed his hideout. It was one of those dreams where you try to speak but can’t. He wanted to shout, to tell Jerome to get out, to tell him that he was coming back to save him, but somehow his voice wouldn’t rise above a whisper.
    In the morning his sheets were wrapped tightly around him as if he’d been rolled up in them. He didn’t wake up rested, but he did wake up determined. Kit was not going to get away with this! His crazy uncle might be able to hide all the paper in the house, but he couldn’t keep Norman from leaving.
    There wasn’t much in the kitchen worth taking, but Norman filled the canvas knapsack he’d borrowed from George Kelmsworth with granola bars and bottled water. It was warm out, but he kept George’s sweater in there too. It made him feel better having something from inside a book. It reassured him that it was all still possible.
    He had no idea how far he would have to go or how long he would be away. The nearest village was Summerside. His mother had taken him to the bookstore there. His pockets were weighed down with all the British money he was able to scrounge from around the house, mostly one- and twenty-pence pieces, and a few one- and two-pound coins. Uncle Kit had even hidden all the paper money. Norman hoped the coins in his pocket were enough to buy a book at the bookshop in Summerside. Something from the Undergrowth series would be perfect, but even a pad of paper would do.
    Dora caught him just as he was sneaking out the kitchen door.
    “Where are you going?” she asked absently as she opened the freezer and reached for the ice cream.
    “For a walk,” he replied cagily. He couldn’t risk her ratting him out to Kit.
    “Can I come?”
    “Nope,” he replied curtly. He’d learned long ago not to give excuses or reasons. It only gave her something to argue against.
    Dora wasn’t even bothering to get a bowl. She scooped ice cream directly from the tub. “You know, Raritan and I could catch up to you if we wanted to,” she taunted.
    He tried not to look worried, but a moment of doubt kept him there at the door. If Dora brought her pet unicorn to Summerside, things could get out of control. It was on his tongue to warn her, but he remembered his rule: Don’t tell Dora not to do something. He managed a casual shrug. “Whatever,” he said, and then ducked out the back door before she got even more curious.
    He almost ran into Raritan as he fled. The unicorn stood on the garden path, much closer to the house than he’d been last night. Norman gasped and tripped as he stopped himself short. “Jeez, listen at doors much?” he asked, trying to cover up his embarrassment. As usual there was no reply from Raritan. If possible, the unicorn seemed even taller this morning, more imposing. Norman tried to stare him down, but he couldn’t hold the gaze of those unblinking eyes.
    “Still no sign of my friend Malcolm, huh? About this high.” He held his hand down around his knee. “Wicked bow shot, kind of a smart aleck?”
    Raritan blinked a long blink as if considering the question, but Norman didn’t really expect a reply. He was just being a smart aleck himself.
    “No?” he said, shaking his head.