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that is the right, true Grimoire, then you might be of use to us after all.”
    â€œHere,” Jarvey said, holding out the book. “If you want this, take it and call it my rent—”
    Quick as a snake, Betsy pulled herself away from him. “Nah! Don’t hold that thing towards me! If it is what you say it is, I wouldn’t touch it for a thousand pound! They do say that whenever that thing opens in front of people, it transports them away.”
    â€œT-transports them?”
    â€œGrabs ’em body and soul, and pulls them from their life and their world into somethin’ else. That book’s a work of art, it is, and I’ve heard older people say that none but a Midion can use it.” Betsy crouched. “You keep it, but don’t try to open it. Not for your life. You’d best grab yourself a corner and sleep if you can. Look, don’t try to get away, see? We sleeps light, and we don’t rightways trust you yet.”
    She whistled, and a moment later the four boys came back in. Without looking away from Jarvey, Betsy said, “Right, then. He’s true story, so far as he knows, and he’s Artless. No brass on him, but he bears the Midion name, and that might just be worth somethin’ to somebody. All sleep now, and in the morning we’ll sort it out.”
    Jarvey didn’t have to do much to get ready for bed. The oldest boy, whose name seemed to be Plum, showed him where the toilet was. It wasn’t much, just a trough of running water, but Jarvey wasn’t picky by that time. He did see that they were in a vast basement room, with ancient, cobweb-strung beams high overhead and crumbling brick walls all around.
    They went back to the improvised room, where the other three boys were already snoring. Betsy sat brooding in the corner closest to the curtain-hung doorway. Jarvey hesitated beside her, then said, “Look, I’m kind of hungry.”
    â€œYou too, cully?” She gave him a fierce grin. “We’re all sharp set. Bed now, over there.” She jerked her head toward a kind of pad in the corner, made up of odds and ends of carpet and fabric. “We’ll see about getting vittles for you in the morning, if we decide you’re to be let live. Go on, go on, bed now.”
    Jarvey knelt and arranged the carpet ends and bundles of cloth as well as he could. He stretched out on it. Across the room, Betsy blew out the candle, and darkness flooded in.
    Jarvey turned this way and that, squirming, trying to make himself comfortable and reasonably warm. He dragged some of the rough cloth over himself as a makeshift blanket. His bruises and scrapes twinged dismally. All around him, the other kids snored, coughed, muttered in their dreams. Jarvey’s neck began to cramp.
    After a few minutes, Jarvey sat up in his improvised bed and wrapped the book in some scraps of cloth. He slipped it under his head. It was a hard pillow, but by that time exhaustion had caught up, and he was past caring. Right now, he would give anything to return to that dreary hotel with his mom and dad. Confused, worn out, and more than a little afraid, Jarvey did the impossible: He fell asleep.

CHAPTER 4
    The Cold Light of Day
    From the depths of sleep Jarvey surfaced suddenly, thrashing and yelling. He opened his eyes and saw the crate-walled room in a thin gray light. He was alone. As he scrambled up, he remembered the book and unwrapped it. The hanging blanket that served as the door had been twitched aside, and a little light seeped through the opening.
    He peeked out. The cavernous basement had a few high, small windows, and through these, dusty bars of daylight slanted in, buttresses against the dark wall. Jarvey could see nothing through the windows. They were fifteen feet above the floor, and their panes had been so bleared with grime that they were barely translucent.
    The room stretched out for a hundred feet or more, and fifty feet from side to