The Lost (Witch & Wizard) by Patterson James & Raymond Emily

Author:Patterson, James & Raymond, Emily [Patterson, James]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Juvenile Fiction / Action &#38, Magic, Adventure / General, Juvenile Fiction / Family / Siblings, Juvenile Fiction / Fantasy &#38
Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers
Published: 2014-12-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 46

Wisty

IF THERE WERE a prize for stupid decisions, then surely my brother would win it: that’s what I’m thinking as I gaze down into the enormous pit of Work Site #1. He’s somewhere inside that hellhole, and I’ve got to get him out.

Dig, dig, dig: Darrius and Bloom must be trying to work these people to death—that’s the only explanation I can come up with. But I’m not going to let anyone else kill my brother, because that’s my prerogative. (Metaphorically, I mean. In reality, I’ll only kick his ass a little bit for being so insufferably good-hearted and principled and idiotic. I mean, what sort of person voluntarily enters a muddy pit teeming with slaves? I’m seriously doubting his capacity to make sane decisions now.)

I walk slowly along the upper lip of the pit, from one end to the other, looking for a pair of familiar muscled shoulders and a shock of too-long blond hair. But there are hundreds, if not thousands, of people down there. They’re covered in dirt from head to toe, too, which makes it hard to tell them apart.

Me, I’m disguised as an old woman—just a bit of magic, plus some clothes from my old dress-up trunk—so I assume I’m safe from being collared by Horsemen and handed a shovel.

Except, as it turns out, I’m not. I’ve just caught what I think is a glimpse of Whit when I’m grabbed roughly by the arm, spun around, and then held face-to-face by a huge and hideously ugly Horseman.

“Why aren’t you working?” he yells.

His breath’s so bad I momentarily choke. “Sir,” I manage, “I’m a grandmother—surely you don’t—”

But he’s already dragging me toward the ladders at the entrance to the pit. I claw madly at his arms, but I might as well be a kitten for all he notices. “Let me go,” I shriek. “You ugly, stinking barbarian!”

A handful of other Horsemen come over to watch and laugh at this spitting, cursing old woman. I can feel the burn inside my skin, like I’m going to combust. But I don’t want to blow my cover right now—and even ringed by flames, I don’t know if I’m a match for half a dozen of these thugs.

Still yelling and scratching, I’m taken down into the muddy earthen maw, and there they clap some band around my wrist and then let me go. Someone pushes a shovel into my hands—a shovel so heavy that, if I were as old as I look, I wouldn’t even be able to lift it.

I can’t help it: I spit on the ground at a Horseman’s feet. He cuffs me across the cheek so hard I see stars. “Dig, old woman,” he barks. Then he shoves me toward the other slaves.

As I hobble my way across the pit to where I think I saw Whit, I wonder if I might also win a prize for stupid decisions.

It’s so much worse than I could have imagined down here: a seething, stinking mass of brutalized humanity, wordlessly ripping the earth to shreds.

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