The Castle in the Attic: Chapters 12–14

Although it was full summer, only a few ears of corn and some stunted grain grew in the dry brown fields.

Someone moving briskly across the landscape at any hour was obviously an object of interest.

The water tasted brackish, and he took only enough to wet his mouth.

The apple came off easily in his hand, and when he had maneuvered down to the sturdier branches, he stopped to study it.

His last drink had been the stagnant water in the streambed, and this endless climb in the sun had made the sweat stand out on his face and neck.

The man laughed. “That one bite of the apple will suffice me for a long time. Pack up the rest and take it with you. Where are you headed?”

“Oh, no, my boy, you cannot go there. Come along with me. I am going back to search for my wife and child to take them out of this accursed land. Join us.”

“The land around the castle is parched from his fiery breath. You must give up your foolish plan. Nobody can pass into the castle without Alastor’s permission.”

Alastor had begun his ‘reforms,’ and the people were already beginning to suffer under his rule.

On that last trip out of the castle, Calendar looked haggard and worn.

“It’s a terrible thing.” This last remark was greeted with low murmurs of assent.

The dragon, a brownish-green, scaly creature, prowled in front of the double wooden doors, endlessly turning on himself so that the occasional bursts of flame from his mouth barely missed his tail.

The heat that the dragon discharged into the air had withered away much of the undergrowth.

When he stopped to look through the binoculars, he could see the soldiers jabbering to one another and pointing down at him, but no arrows were sent his way, no jars of boiling oil were tipped over the walls.

The palms of his hands were wet and clammy from nerves, not the dragon’s heat.

He was desperate to shield his eyes from the look of misery and terror on their faces, but in the midst of the tumult he heard the music, still winding its way out of his recorder.

Another curling blast of fire combined with a roar of anguished fury filled the air. William began to falter.

Another curling blast of fire combined with a roar of anguished fury filled the air. William began to falter.

He closed his eyes and waited for the pounding in his chest to subside. Then he forced himself to look once more into the dragon’s eyes.

This time there were no scenes of fiery horror but only the terrified and lonely eyes of the cat imprisoned inside this grotesque green body.

The dragon began to struggle, moving his legs about under him in useless, scrabbling circles.

The dragon nodded and took up his old position. William glanced at the ramparts.

At last, when William began to grow dizzy from the downward twisting and the acrid smell of the torches, they came out into a small room.

William was left standing by himself, but in less than a minute the door opened a crack. A bony hand reached out and beckoned him inside.

Lines creased the man’s forehead, and his gray hair lay across the shiny skin of his head in thin, matted strands.

“Very well, then. We shall keep the dagger for you, young Muggins,” the wizard said. “That way you won’t be tempted to use it, will you?”
“No, sir,” William ventured warily.

“Very well, then. We shall keep the dagger for you, young Muggins,” the wizard said. “That way you won’t be tempted to use it, will you?”
“No, sir,” William ventured warily.

Calendar scuttled along behind them, sniffing at him occasionally like a curious dog.

The wizard was talking to him, boasting about some of his best prizes, a visiting prince and a wily priest.

“Come with me, fool. I have decided to let you stay because I need the sight of a new face to cheer me. This old crone annoys me, though I’ve gotten used to her company,” he said, pushing Calendar out of the way.