The Guardians by William Joyce

Author:William Joyce
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9781442474253
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2012-10-16T07:00:00+00:00

NORTH’S MECHANICAL DJINNI WAS a truly inspired invention. Pitch took delight not only in the theft of his enemy’s creation, but also in the wonderful things it could do. When he was inside the djinni, Pitch could not only venture out into the sunlight, he could turn it into any number of machines, most notably, one that could fly—the perfect way to quickly transport the children across a vast distance.

With the children and Nightlight trapped within his lead cloak, Pitch had transformed the djinni into just such a machine.

He cared nothing for beauty, but he appreciated the elaborate design of the flying sleigh machine that swelled out from the djinni’s shoulders, back, and arms—every floorboard, deck, and bolt was a mechanical marvel. A surge of envy roiled through him, for it was clearly a combination of ancient magic and human invention that had created this masterpiece. The Nightmare King had never imagined anything that even approached North’s genius. But he would. Oh, once he had all the books in the wizard’s library, he would.

He narrowed his eyes and issued a curt command to the djinni. “Take me to the core!”

Propellers began to spin, and within seconds, the sleigh was piloting across the sky, crossing continents, then oceans, finally landing upon one of the most desolate places on Earth: a volcano at the very top of the Andes Mountains.

Inside the cloak, the children of Santoff Claussen whispered to one another about where they might be and whether or not Ombric and North had already started their rescue mission.

William the Absolute Youngest fumed in the darkness. “I wish I had a sword,” he muttered.

“I do too!” said his oldest brother. “If I had North’s new sword, why, I’d—”

“Silence!” roared Pitch. The volcano was a shortcut to his new lair. As they entered the open fissure of the volcano, the flying machine’s propellers folded tight. They were speeding down faster and faster, straight for the center of the Earth.

The children, trapped in the inky darkness of Pitch’s cloak, could see almost nothing, though their ears began to pop. Their only light was Nightlight’s considerably diminished glow.

Tall William and Petter, aided by Fog, tried to push their way out of the cloak prison—to no avail. The black cloth wasn’t woven, but made of a metal mesh that was flexible but impenetrable, no matter how hard the boys pushed and clawed at it. Sascha did her best to comfort William the Absolute Youngest and some of the other children, but she was most concerned about Nightlight. He lay slumped against the cloak, his eyes closed. His light grew more and more faint—it started to flicker.

William the Absolute Youngest cried out, “Is he dying?” Tears slipped down the children’s cheeks. They held their breaths, watching and hoping that the youngest William was wrong.

Sascha grasped Nightlight’s hand. It felt strange in hers, like it was made of air and light and crystals, but in a moment he began to glow—faintly—again, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

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