The Blackthorn Key

I wasn’t quick enough. Before I could do anything else, the Elephant drove his fist into my gut. Pain spread from my stomach, a new fire hotter than the burn on my chest. Every muscle in my body seized. I heaved, but I couldn’t breathe.

Wat rushed over and grabbed my wrist. He slammed it against the iron, once, twice. My fingers went numb. The cylinder slipped out and fell to the floor. It rolled away, wick bobbing around like a whip, a streak of grease trailing behind it on the stone.

Oswyn scooped it up and held it like a baby. Wat grabbed me by the hair and drew back his fist.

“No,” Oswyn said. “I’m not finished with him yet.”

Wat flung me to the ground, next to Lord Ashcombe. My lungs finally started to work again. I sucked in air, gasping. Wat kicked me in the side for good measure. I curled away from him, cradling my battered wrist.

The Elephant searched the oven for more traps. “Nothing else here.”

Oswyn stared at the cylinder, breath quickening. He pulled open the parchment that held the cylinder together and stuck his finger inside. It came out wet. He rubbed the oily substance over his fingers. He sniffed it, then the wick.

“Cannon fuse.” Oswyn waved his apprentices forward. “Clear that corner. Bring me the lantern.”

The Elephant moved to obey him.

“Don’t,” I said.

They looked at me.

“Don’t light it,” I pleaded. “We’ll die.”

“It’s just a big firecracker,” Wat scoffed.

“It’s not.”

Oswyn’s eyes narrowed again, but he looked around the lab. He saw the test chamber on the other side, its scarred, blackened walls, the broken door.

“You don’t understand,” I said. “It’s beyond anything you’ve ever imagined. We’re just men, mortal men. The Archangel’s Fire was never meant for us.”

Oswyn looked at me.

“Please, Master Colthurst,” I said. “If you set that off, you’ll destroy us all.”

Oswyn stayed still, thinking. For a moment, I thought he might actually listen.

Then he held the cylinder out to Wat. He motioned to the test chamber. “Light it in there.”

Wat grabbed the stick like it was nothing more than a candle. He took it to the test chamber and placed it on the dented iron table. With the flame from the lantern, he lit the wick.

The fuse crackled and sparked, dancing toward the grease.

Slowly, I slid backward on the stone. I gripped the front of Lord Ashcombe’s tabard. Underneath, I could feel the beating of his heart.

Wat stepped backward out of the test chamber, watching the stick. Oswyn and the Elephant moved closer.

I pulled on Lord Ashcombe’s vest. He looked at me.

“Get up,” I whispered.

The King’s Warden blinked, twice. Then he slid his legs beneath him and struggled to his feet. I helped him as he stood.

The fuse fell below the paper. For a second, there was nothing.

“Told you,” Wat said.

And then the world was flame.

The blast seemed to shatter the earth. The walls shook. A chunk of the test chamber blew outward, stones bouncing from the ceiling. The barrel of lamp oil—the one I’d dragged to the corner of the test chamber before I’d gone up to the garden—blew apart, sending blazing fuel screaming outward like hell’s wraiths released.

A burning torrent of air flung Wat into the workbench, scattering paper like fiery snow. The Elephant toppled backward to the floor. The press of hot air squeezed me against Lord Ashcombe, whose eyes went wide as he held his breath.

Oswyn remained in the center of the room. The iron table, ripped apart, sent a jagged shard of metal shrieking past his face. He barely flinched. He just stood there, like a statue, and stared into the face of God.

The air seemed to rumble forever, flames swirling on the ceiling in twisters. Then they vanished, and all that was left was hissing, like a chorus of snakes.

Wat scrambled backward, beating frantically against the flames that had ignited his sleeve. The Elephant stayed on the ground, mouth open.

Oswyn stepped forward, his eyes alight. “Magnificent,” he croaked. “Magnificent.”