21

Albert made it snow in the magic workshop, of course. That wasn’t a particularly complicated spell. But as he returned to the walls, he was looking anxious.

“What’s this they’re telling me?” he said to the Sorrowful Knight. “Are you really planning to challenge Osmund’s castellan to distract them? It’s not a bad idea, but if it’s to work, there’s something we must take care of before the fight.”

“What kind of something would that be?” asked Bertram, putting a large pan of fried fish down on the battlements.

“Are you sure these fish never walked on two legs?” asked Igraine.

“Sure,” replied Bertram.

Albert looked at the gigantic battering ram that had just been maneuvered into position on the bank of the moat.

“One of us,” he said, taking a piece of fish, “must steal into the Spiky Knight’s tent.”

Bertram almost swallowed a bone the wrong way. “This is no time for joking, Albert,” he said. “You’ve been eating too many of your horrible biscuits.”

“I’m not joking.” Albert leaned over the wall, clapped his hands three times, and hummed a note that sounded horribly out of tune. All at once the iron head of the battering ram slumped forward and dropped into the moat. “Easy-peasy!” murmured Albert. He snapped his fingers to send back a quiverful of burning arrows that had lost their way, and he turned to the Sorrowful Knight. “Your fight with the Iron Hedgehog,” he said, “has to keep Osmund occupied for a full hour. That’s a long time. If he unhorses you during the first tilt, you’ll be risking your neck for nothing.”

“What are you talking about?” cried Igraine indignantly. “The Knight of the Mount of Tears is a wonderful knight! He knows better than anyone how to—”

The Sorrowful Knight raised his hand. “Let your brother finish, Igraine,” he said.

“However wonderful a knight he may be,” Albert went on, “he doesn’t stand a chance. The Iron Hedgehog always wins. When he’s jousting with a lance he unhorses all his opponents at the first tilt. I’m right, aren’t I?”

The Sorrowful Knight bowed his head. “Your brother is indeed right, noble Igraine,” he said quietly. “As you know, it’s happened to me three times already.”

“I thought as much.” Albert nodded in a satisfied way. “Did you never wonder why?”

The knight looked inquiringly at him. “What do you mean?”

“The Iron Hedgehog uses magic, of course!” cried Albert. “It’s as clear as day!”

“What are you saying?” Incredulous, the Sorrowful Knight shook his head. “That can’t be true!”

“I tell you, he wins by magic!” Albert repeated. “Ask Bertram.”

“Albert’s right.” The Master of Horse threw a few fish bones over the castle walls. “Back at Darkrock, I overheard Osmund’s servants talking. One of them was saying that Osmund had cast a spell on Heartless’s jousting lance in gratitude for his faithful services. That’s why the Hedgehog always uses the same lance for his first tilt.”

The Sorrowful Knight was looking as if someone had hit him hard on his helmet. “But that’s impossible!” he stammered. “To use magic is against the honor of a knight!”

“The honor of a knight, my foot!” Albert laughed derisively. “The Hedgehog couldn’t care less about such things. He wants to be unbeatable, and with an enchanted lance he is. I bet you it glows green. That’s the way you can always recognize weapons with a victory spell on them. So the fact is, if your challenge is supposed to give us a breathing space, the spell on the lance must be broken. It’s not all that difficult, but one of us will have to creep into Osmund’s camp to do it. And unfortunately I can’t, because we never know when Osmund will mount his next magic attack, so—”

“So I’ll go,” said Igraine.

“That’s what I thought, little sister!” Albert gave her a broad smile. “But you must hurry. The sun is high in the sky, and I’m sure Heartless will soon be back. Come on. I’ll give you something I found in the armory.”

Igraine stood up, but the Sorrowful Knight took her arm. “No. This is out of the question!” he said. “I will be the one to go, of course.”

“No, let me do it,” said Bertram, putting the knight aside. “You fight the Iron Hedgehog; I’ll steal into his tent and make sure you have a fair chance.”

“Oh, stop talking nonsense!” said Albert, impatiently interrupting. “Neither of you knows the first thing about magic! Igraine may not know much, either, but at least she’s grown up among magicians! She’s the one who must go. But Bertram can accompany her as a watchdog.”

Bertram bowed to Igraine with a broad grin. “Your faithful watchdog at your service, noble lady!”

“This is madness!” cried the Sorrowful Knight. “They’ll both be found and captured.”

“Oh, no, I don’t think so,” said Albert mysteriously.

Igraine had been sure she knew every single item in the armory of Pimpernel Castle, every shield, every sword, even every cloak, however moth-eaten. But she had never before noticed the strange thing that Albert took out of a small chest. It looked like a veil, except that the fabric was covered with scales, transparent scales fitting closely together.

“As you know, I never usually come here,” said Albert, carefully smoothing out the strange fabric. “But when Osmund turned up outside the castle with his army, I told myself it might be a good idea to find out what our ancestors stored here to defend themselves. And I discovered this.”

“But what is it?” asked Bertram.

“A dragon’s skin, of course,” replied Albert. “Our great-grandfather Pelleas was friends with several dragons. I assume one of them gave it to him as a present. The dragon who shed this skin can’t have been more than sixty or seventy years old, so it was still quite small.” Albert reached into the chest again and took out a second, distinctly larger skin. “This one ought to fit you, Bertram. The dragon who shed it was a good bit older — perhaps it was the same dragon some time later. I’m sure you know that dragons shed their skins every fourteen years, don’t you?”

Igraine shook her head.

Albert threw her the smaller skin. When she caught it, it felt like picking up spun air.

“But what do we do with them?” asked Bertram, baffled.

“They’ll make you invisible,” said Albert. “Try it. Drape them over your heads.”

Igraine and Bertram did as he said — and disappeared. Disappeared without a trace.

Pleased with himself, Albert folded his arms.

“I thought those were just a couple of dirty old veils!” gasped the invisible Igraine.

“Well, there you are!” Albert shrugged his shoulders. “Sometimes big brothers know best, little sister. Now, get down that tunnel of our great-grandfather’s. And oh, yes — I almost forgot the most important thing.” He took a small gold container and a box out of his coat pocket. “Take this with you, Igraine. Dust the point of the enchanted lance with the powder from this container. Then set it alight with a taper from this box, and murmur the Red Chant — which I hope you still know by heart! That will break the strongest victory spell.”

Igraine’s hand came out of nowhere, pinched his nose — and stowed the little container and the box away under the dragon skin.

“Watch out for the wind, for branches, for anything that could pluck the dragon skin off your head, understand?” called Albert as the door of the armory was opened by what might have been a ghostly hand. “And remember, you must hurry! If the Hedgehog gets his hands on you, even I can’t help you.”

“Don’t worry, big brother, we’ll do it!” Igraine’s voice came back. “And feed Sisyphus, will you? I shut him up in my room.”

Then the armory door closed again.