Crispin climbed atop the bed and jammed his foot on the carvings on the post, hoisting himself as high as he could go. It wasn’t quite enough. “Dammit.” He looked down. The room was red and gold, with more heat than he’d ever encountered before. It was not a good way to die, he decided, and turned back up toward the square of sky, trying to breathe any air filtering down.
He’d have to jump for it.
Just as he positioned himself to climb again, the bed lurched.
The hole in the loft widened and the bed tilted into it. The mattress caught fire and began to smoke furiously in black billows.
Quickly, he jumped away just as the bed, in a loud bellow of creaking timbers, crashed through the floor, sending up a great belch of dark smoke and shooting flames.
Trapped.
The planets whooshed slowly by and Crispin saw it was his only hope. The railing was barely intact. He waited till the sun on its outer arm swung closest toward him before jumping onto the rail. He sprang forward and grabbed hold of one of the sun’s rays, wrapping an arm around it. The contraption groaned and wobbled under his weight but continued to move slowly toward the trapdoor. He knew he had only the one chance left. If he missed it …
The brass sun finally creaked directly beneath the trapdoor. Crispin prayed and leapt.
His fingers caught the edge of the opening and he dangled over the fire crackling and spitting upward from two floors below him.
With a grunt, he slid an arm up and over onto the roof, gripped tight, and swung his leg up, catching it on the opening’s edge. Gritting his teeth and bellowing with the rest of his strength, he used his leg muscles to pull himself up the rest of the way until he was able to grab hold of the roof itself. His arms did the rest of the work and he slid across the broken tiles to fresh air.
Once his feet were free of the fiery room, he lay on the tiles and breathed.
Where were they, the Flamels and Jack and Avelyn? Were they safe?
He gained his feet. The tiles were hot under his boots. The roof wouldn’t last long.
When he looked up, he spied figures being hauled into an attic window on another rooftop across the lane. A woman was being handed down, assisted by a soot-covered blond-haired girl. Avelyn, helping her mistress. And there was Flamel, with Jack last.
“Jack!” He waved his arm.
Jack looked up and saw him. “Master!” he called across the rooftops. “Come on!”
Crispin moved, but out from behind a chimney, a figure in a long black gown emerged.
“You can’t help but get in my way, can you, Guest?”
“Malemeyns.” He drew his dagger. “I was hoping I’d have my chance at you. You started this fire.”
“Of course I did. My son died in a fire. Why not Nicholas?”
“He wasn’t responsible for that.”
“No, Lancaster was accountable for it. But Nicholas killed my wife, stole my Perenelle. He ruined my life and I’ll ruin his.”
“It’s over. You won’t be committing any more murders.”
“It is justice. What would you know of that? Oh, I know your tale. I weep for it,” he said sarcastically. “But it was different for me. All was lost, never to be recovered.”
“And so, too, was my life lost.”
“But now you thrive, is that it? I should do the same? You are clever, I will give you that. But you have no one to blame but yourself. I have Nicholas. And Lancaster. And I’ll have my revenge.”
Crispin heard the joists give way beneath him and he leapt aside. Flames shot up from the rafters.
Piers smiled. His teeth gleamed from a sooty face … all but his one gray tooth. He, too, had a dagger in his hand. “Who will triumph, I wonder?” He cocked his head toward where Flamel had escaped. “He can try to hide from me, but I’ll never stop harrying him. I will prevail. Perenelle will be mine one day. For I have already made the Elixir. I have time. All eternity, in fact.”
“I think you’re lying. Perenelle told me you didn’t know what you were doing.”
He ticked his head. “Poor deluded Perenelle. She chose so unwisely.”
“But she didn’t choose. You lost her. In a game of chess. Isn’t that right? You like to play games.”
He frowned. “So I did. The next game won’t be as easy to lose. Nicholas never would have found her without your help. And you won’t be there the next time.”
“Oh? I was rather thinking that this was your last game.”
“A game?” His face brightened. “Shall we play one? One last time?”
“I’m through with your damn games.”
“Oh, no! Games are always appropriate. What can we play up here?”
“How about catch the dagger?” Crispin lunged with his blade … but Piers stepped aside. Almost skidding off the roof, Crispin windmilled his arms and righted himself at the last moment. It was a long way down.
“But I already told you, Guest. I have taken the Elixir. I cannot be killed. I know the potion worked. I prepared it myself with the use of the Stone. You will always see me just as I am now. Vigorous. Invincible. For now I shall never age.”
He stomped down hard. The roof cracked, buckled … and suddenly gave way under Crispin.
A fireball leapt up, barely missing him, and Crispin fell through the roof. He barked his chin on the way down, but it bounced him enough that his arms reached out and gripped the edge of the broken tiles.
Piers approached and crouched down to face him. “Looks like you lose.”
Arms trembling, Crispin slammed a fist on the tile nearest Malemeyns’s foot. It crumbled and the man slipped. He lost his footing and toppled, rolling to the edge of the roof.
Crispin used that distraction to haul himself up, and none too soon. He could feel the fire licking at his boots. When he looked down, the leather was singed and smoking.
By then, Piers had regained his footing. He was wagging a finger at Crispin. “You must have nine lives, Crispin Guest.”
“I must,” he agreed.
“It’s a pity. Such a keen mind and a nimble body.”
“Why did you lead me to Old Fish Street? I never would have found you had you not left clues.”
“It’s the game, Master Guest. Have you never played games?”
“Isn’t the object of the game to win?”
“Of course it is. But the object of the game is also to play. And while I knew that ultimately Nicholas would lose, it doesn’t diminish the sport of the game itself.” He shook his head and tsked. “I would have thought a man such as yourself would know that.”
“It’s important to have the advantage.”
“Yes, isn’t it? And I have that.”
“Do you?”
“You’re trying to stall. How amusing. Let’s play.” He jabbed forward with his dagger and Crispin leapt back. They circled each other. Crispin knew the man was older than him, but he didn’t seem to be tiring. It couldn’t have to do with that Elixir, could it? No! He refused to believe it. Piers was propelled by madness, nothing more than that.
Crispin made a lunge, but Piers stepped nimbly out of the way. Smoke surrounded them and both their faces were covered in soot, but Piers was smiling, his teeth bright.
He made a feint at Crispin and then swept his blade down the other way. It caught Crispin’s shoulder. A stripe of blood appeared beneath the tear in Crispin’s coat and then a sharp pain bloomed. He ignored it.
Piers smiled in triumph and took a swing with his blade at Crispin’s head. Crispin leapt out of the way but lost his footing on the slanted tiles. He was falling backward and reached out wildly, grabbing hold of Malemeyns’s cloak as he fell. He yanked the man with him, and they tumbled one over the other toward the roof’s edge, stopping short of the precipice.
Each tried to stab the other, and each fended the blades aside with their free hands clutching each other’s wrists. Piers gritted his teeth, smiling a rictus at Crispin. Crispin clutched the man’s dagger arm for all he was worth, forcing it back, trying with only one hand to slam it down against the tiles. Slowly, inch by inch, he managed to force it down until he gave the man’s arm a twist.