Trundle basked for a few moments in Esmeralda’s praise.

“Oh, well . . . it was nothing, really,” he mumbled humbly. “I simply saw it there, and I said to myself—”

“What’s that under your foot?” interrupted Esmeralda. Trundle’s moment of glory was over, short-lived but rather pleasant. Esmeralda dived forward and yanked up his foot, pulling something out from beneath it and holding it up to her palm light.

It was a large iron key with a long shaft and intricate teeth. As Esmeralda turned the key in the light, Trundle saw that its oval handle had ornate designs stamped on both faces.

“These are coats of arms,” murmured Esmeralda. She frowned. “I don’t recognize them, but Aunty will know what they stand for—and most likely she’ll also know which lock the key is intended to open.” She looked up at Trundle with shining eyes. “We’ve done it, Lamplighter!” she said jubilantly. “We’ve found the first crown, Fates be praised.” She stood up. “And now we need to get off Drune double quick!”

“I was meaning to ask you about that,” Trundle said meaningfully. “How do you suggest we do that, exactly? In case you haven’t noticed, the tunnel is blocked in both directions. We’re stuck here.”

“We’ll see about that,” Esmeralda said, undaunted. She lifted the paw that held the palm light. “Seek the sun!” she intoned.

“Er, Esmeralda, it’s nighttime,” Trundle reminded her. “And even if it was daytime, I don’t think sunlight would reach this far into Drune.”

“Be quiet,” said Esmeralda. “You’re just embar-rassing yourself. This is magic. Watch and learn!”

The little lemon yellow ball of light lifted off Esmeralda’s palm. It darted about for a few moments like a sniffer shrew seeking a scent; then, to Trundle’s surprise, it shot straight up into the air and disappeared through a hole in the roof, leaving them in total darkness.

“Hey, not so fast! Come back here,” called Esmeralda.

The light dropped down again, hovering just above their heads.

Even carrying the crown and the key, it was an easy enough task for Trundle and Esmeralda to clamber over the rubble and push up through the hole in the roof. Trundle had been expecting a long, hard climb, so he was pleasantly surprised when his head popped out into the open and he found himself looking down on the buildings that huddled around the entrance to the mine.

Esmeralda was already on the surface, dusting herself off. The palm light had been extinguished, so the only light now came from the red fires of the braziers burning away below them.

“We’ll take one of the skyboats to Rathanger,” she told Trundle as he pulled himself up out of the hole. “The sooner we’re away from here, the better. With luck, there’ll be a windship leaving Rathanger soon. We’ll sneak aboard and let the Fates take us to our next port of call.”

“Er, excuse me,” said Trundle. “Two things. First, what about the slaves? Second, what do you mean by ‘next port of call’?”

“I told you before, there’s nothing we can do for the slaves,” Esmeralda replied. “It’s sad, but there it is. And as for the rest—you seem to forget that there are still five crowns to find. We’ve hardly even started!”

“But I promised those poor creatures we’d try to help them,” Trundle objected.

“I know you did.” Esmeralda was already making her way down the hillside. “I thought it was a mistake at the time.”

Feeling disgruntled and faithless, Trundle trailed after Esmeralda, the shining crystal crown tucked safely under his arm. They came down among the sheds and shacks. There was no one in sight, but from a nearby warehouse they could hear raised voices; among them, Trundle could make out that of Mr. Pouncepot.

“A tankard of ale is just the thing to quench the thirst after hard labor!” he was announcing loudly. “Half the cargo is unloaded, and we deserve a breather before we shift the rest.”

“Since when did you become an acquaintance of hard labor, Mr. Pouncepot?” roared another familiar voice, to harsh laughter and cheery jeers. “Unless looking on while others sweat makes you weary!” It was the voice of Overseer Grunther.

“That takes its toll, Mistress Grunther,” cackled Mr. Pouncepot. “That surely takes its toll!”

There was another burst of laughter and shouts for more ale. Clearly, the windship’s crew and a gang of mine guards were enjoying some liquid refreshment in the warehouse to help their work along.

“I hear there’s a spot of trouble in the mines,” declared Mr. Pouncepot. “Runaways running rampant and the slaves threatening rebellion.”

“The runaways are Razorback’s problem,” replied Grunther genially. “And I’ll soon quiet them slaves down. I’ll put a few of the ringleaders’ feet to the fires—that’ll learn ’em!”

Trundle shivered at the thought of those sad animals being tortured by that horrible hog. He turned to whisper something to Esmeralda, but found that she had crept away and was on the far side of the jetty, checking out the skyboats. He was shocked by the fact that she didn’t seem to care about the slaves. She of all people should know what vile lives they were forced to live. She should do something to help!

He padded softly across the jetty, meaning to have a stern word with her. At heart, he was sure she was a good creature—she just needed a little prod now and then.

“This one looks a trim little craft,” Esmeralda said, pointing to one of the skyboats. Like all the other vessels, it had a propeller at its stern attached to a seat with a mechanical treadle device. Trundle assumed that when there was no wind to fill the sail, someone would sit there and pedal away like mad to turn the propeller and move the skyboat forward.

“Hop aboard,” said Esmeralda. “I’ll untie her. Then off we go!”

“No,” Trundle said firmly. “We’re doing no such thing. We’re going to help the slaves.”

Esmeralda turned and eyed him, folding her arms. “How?” she said. “Just tell me exactly how you plan on us helping the slaves.”

“I don’t know,” Trundle admitted. “But we must. We have to! That Grunther woman is talking about burning their feet!” He turned and began to walk back toward the mines. “You don’t have to come.”

“Then give me the crown!” Esmeralda demanded. “If you’re dead set on getting yourself killed, or worse, at least don’t let the Badgers’ Crystal Crown fall into enemy hands!”

Trundle stopped, quivering with indignation. “Is that all you care about?” he asked. “The blessed crown?”

Esmeralda marched up to him, her arms outstretched. “At the moment, yes!” she said, trying to snatch the crown from under his arm.

Trundle stepped back, clutching the crown to himself. “No!” he said. “I found it. You’re not getting it!”

“Don’t be an idiot!”

“At least I’m not a heartless brute!”

She lunged for the crown, but he leaped back, hitting his shoulder against something hard and hot.

“Trundle! Careful!” gasped Esmeralda, as he stumbled over the leg of one of the iron braziers. The brazier toppled over, spilling burning coals across the jetty.

“Now look what you made me do!” hissed Trundle, glancing anxiously toward the half-closed doors of the warehouse where Mr. Pouncepot and Overseer Grunther and the rest were carousing.

A sharp spitting, spluttering, crackling sound came to his ears. Esmeralda was staring openmouthed at the boards of the jetty, where a bright white sparking fire was suddenly burning among the red coals of the braziers. As they watched, the sparky white fire divided into two channels that went running off in opposite directions, following a black line that he had not noticed before.

The black line led the length of the jetty—from the gangplank of the windship at one end, all the way in through the warehouse doors at the other.

“Uh, Trundle,” said Esmeralda, looking first at the windship and then up to the warehouse. “How firmly did you put the bung back in that barrel of blackpowder you were messing with on the way here?”

“I’m not sure,” Trundle admitted. “Why?”

Esmeralda pointed to the snaking black thread. The two bright little fires were zooming along at great speed now, one heading for the windship, the other making its rapid way to the warehouse.

“Because I think the bung came out again while they were unloading the barrel,” Esmeralda said. “And I think the blackpowder spilled out. And if some of the barrels are still on the windship, then the windship is about to blow up. And if the rest of the barrels are in that warehouse—”

She didn’t need to finish the sentence.

“Oh!” said Trundle as he watched the skittering ball of sparks zoom in through the gap between the warehouse doors. “I see.”

A puzzled voice sounded above the hubbub in the warehouse. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” asked another voice.

“The burning thing coming toward the barrel you’re sitting on.”

“Oh, that. Well, offhand, I’d say it was—”

KA-BOOM!

Trundle and Esmeralda were blown clean off their feet by the blast. Trundle lay flat on his back, his ears ringing and his whiskers singed, watching a huge bloom of red smoke go boiling up into the air. A second or two later, shards of splintered wood and a sprinkling of glass fragments and pieces of metal and other stuff that went splat, came raining down. Trundle preferred not to look at the splats. He had a nasty feeling he already knew what they were: sticky little remnants of exploded windship crew and mine guards.

Esmeralda got up and tottered over to Trundle to help him to his feet.

“Look what you did!” she shouted in his ear.

“Beg pardon?” he shouted back, his whole head ringing with a thousand tinny bells.

“I was just saying—” Esmeralda began at high volume. But before she could finish, something came crashing down at Trundle’s feet. He leaped back in shock. It was a wide leather belt, studded with iron hooks from which hung an assortment of keys.

A moment later, something roundish whacked down on the boards nearby and went bounding along the jetty.

“Don’t look!” warned Esmeralda. “I think that was Grunther’s head!”

But Trundle was far more interested in the singed and smoking belt. He picked it up and hung it around his neck, the keys jingling.

He looked at Esmeralda. “Now can we go and help the slaves?” he asked, drawing his sword.

“You bet!” she laughed. “Lead on, Trundle, my lad!”