Charlie Bone and the Shadow (The Children of the Red King, Book 7) Part 7 pot

Emma helped him stumble across to the

chair beneath the vent. The water splashed

against their shins in a vicious tide. Tancred

dropped onto the chair and clung to the

sides, but it was obvious that he found it

hard to stay upright. Emma looked around

the room. The griffin would be too heavy to

move, she decided, but there were two

plaster tigers that might serve her purpose.

Emma pushed the tigers to either side of

Tancred. Their heads came just above his el￾bows. "Who made these?" she asked as she

hastily began to change shape again.

"I did." Tancred smiled sleepily. "My tigers."

Resting his arms on their wide, painted

heads, he looked down at the small bird

skimming the water close to his knees.

"They'll keep me safe, Em."

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Will they? Suppose they can't, Emma

thought as she flew into the vent. Above her

was complete darkness. It wasn't easy, even

for a tiny bird, to fly blind, up and up,

through a narrow pipe. Time and again her

wing tips brushed against the sides, tilting

her backward and making her head spin. But

at last she reached a bend in the pipe, and

found that she could stand. Ahead of her a

tiny patch of light showed the way out. She

hopped to the end of the pipe. Now she had

to make a quick decision.

The whole school would be in the under￾ground dining hall. No one would hear her if

she knocked on the great oak doors. And if

she rang the bell, who would open the door?

Weedon, the janitor, who had not an ounce

of sympathy for an endowed child.

There was only one place she could go; only

one man strong enough to demand entry to

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Bloor's Academy and rescue Tancred. Emma

flew toward the Heights, a distant hill

crowned by a thick forest of pines.

The Thunder House stood in a forest glade;

visitors

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to the place were few, for the surrounding air

was always turbulent. Thunder growled

above the trees and an incessant north wind

carried hailstones, even in the summer.

Small birds became as helpless as toys when

they drew near the Torssons' home. Tossed

between clouds and deafened by thunder￾claps, they could do little more than close

their eyes and hope to keep airborne.

But hope was not good enough for Emma. In

the world, no bird was as fiercely determ￾ined. She would reach Tancred's father, and

he would save Tancred.

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As Emma approached the mysterious house

with its three pointed roofs, the wind in￾creased its grip. She could hardly breathe as

the current's iron fist tightened about her.

With a soundless cry of fear she gave in to

the wind and allowed it to hurl her at the

Thunder House.

When the wind released her, the bruised

little bird ruffled her feathers and stretched

her needle-thin legs. "Help! Help!" she cried;

before she was

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fully changed, she began to rap on the Thun￾der House door with a fist that still had not

lost all its feathers.

When the door was opened, it would be diffi￾cult to say who was the most startled: the

half-bird, half-girl on the step or the seven￾foot-tall man with his moon-yellow hair and

electrified beard.

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They had met once before and Emma knew

Mr. Torsson was a kind man beneath his

stormy exterior. "It's Emma," she said. "I'm

sorry I'm still not quite me." Then, reaching

her full, featherless height, "Ah, here I am."

"Emma Tolly?" boomed Mr. Torsson.

"Yes," Emma shrieked through a thunder￾clap, and without pausing for another

breath, she cried out her news. Every word

she uttered increased the tempest that erup￾ted from the thunder man, and before she

had finished, her hand was seized in long, icy

fingers.

"We'll ride the storm," roared Mr. Torsson,

whirling Emma off her feet.

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Afterward, Emma could never find the words

to describe her journey through the air. She

was flying, and yet she was not a bird. The

storm lifted her, cradled her, swung her feet

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