You pretty much just described yourself.”

“I did not,” I said. “I’m not . . .” I ran through the list of qualities I’d just said, deciding which one to protest first. Shopping diva, okay that was sort of me. Didn’t pay attention in school . . . um, ditto for that one. I wasn’t an airhead though, was I?

I thought of all the ways I’d messed things up in the last two days and wasn’t sure. Still, I folded my arms. “I am not like her.” Which was true. I always return my phone messages. “And besides, I didn’t ask you to come.

So if you don’t want to be here why don’t you just call your responsible, punctual fairy godmother and leave?”

“Because I didn’t get a fairy godmother,” Jane said. “I got a creepy little man who may in fact have been Rumpelstiltskin. The leprechaun said your fairy godmother would take all of us back when you asked.” Jane let her hands fall to her sides in exasperation. They were smeared with dirt and tiny scratches ran across them.

“How could you mess up a wish from your fairy godmother?”

Tristan spoke, and his voice had a calmness to it that almost didn’t belong in the room. “What did you bring with you?”

“What?” Jane asked.

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“You knew you were going to the Middle Ages. You must have brought along things you were going to need.

Savannah brought supplies. Things to barter. What’s in your backpacks?”

It was more of a point than a question and Jane blushed at the reprimand.

Hunter said, “We only have our schoolbooks. We didn’t think we were going to stay here.” He thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I thought fairies were supposed to be good and do nice things for people.”

Tristan picked up Jane’s backpack from the floor, took it to the bed, and unzipped it. “In the original fairy tales, fairies were often seen as mischievous, dangerous tricksters. They did things like steal children. Smart people didn’t trust them.”

I let out a grunt. “Where were you with that information when I needed it?”

He dumped Jane’s books out onto the bed. Without cracking a smile, he said, “Sitting in my room trying to work up the courage to call you.” Then he put Jane’s pens and pencils into one pile and her books into another. The notebooks he handed to me. “Paper is valuable.

We’ll be able to barter with these at least.” He pulled out a makeup bag, opened it, and shook his head. He tossed it back on the bed along with her cell phone, then 302/431

walked over to Hunter and took his backpack from him.

“Anything in here that could be used to slay a dragon?”

“Paper. Pens. And my lunch.”

“Well, at least you’ll have one good meal in the Middle Ages then.” Tristan took the backpack and looked through it anyway. While he did he said, “Savannah, your job tomorrow is to take Hunter and Jane to the market and buy them clothes so they fit in.” I said, “It takes days, sometimes weeks, to make clothes.”

“Buy them off someone’s back if you have to. I’ll be gone all day at the castle. They’ll want me to tell the story of the cyclops over dinner, and besides, I should practice my archery some more. According to everyone at the castle, the only way to kill a dragon is to shoot a poisoned arrow into its throat. It’s a small target, but it’s the only unarmored part. If I miss, the dragon is likely to swoop down and barbecue me.” A tremor went through me. I hadn’t really thought about Tristan fighting the dragon. But now that he was planning it, I couldn’t help but picture him standing underneath a monstrous dragon with only a bow and arrow for protection. Little waves of panic spread across my chest.

Tristan went through the contents of Hunter’s backpack with a shake of his head. “What I really need is a 303/431

small handheld missile. How come no one carries those in their backpacks anymore?”

I knew he was joking, but still I said, “Could we make one?”

Jane and Hunter looked at me with that condescending expression smart people get when they think you’re being an idiot, so I said, “Didn’t the Chinese have rockets in the Middle Ages?” After all, I’d seen the movie Mulan. Hey, for a cartoon character, Shang was hot.

“They did,” Tristan said. “But I have no idea what sort of fuel they used.”

“Besides,” Hunter said, “the body of a rocket has to be perfectly cylindrical or it won’t fly straight. The chances of hitting a dragon’s throat are slim.”

“What about cannons?” I said. “Didn’t they have those in the Middle Ages?”

Tristan calmly refilled Hunter’s backpack. “They had trebuchets, which worked more like catapults—great for hitting castles, but not so accurate at hitting moving objects.” He looked over at me, and his voice softened as though he appreciated my worry. “Trust me, people here have tried lots of ways to kill dragons—poisoning their food, drugging them. An arrow to the throat is the only thing that’s worked.”

I went and sat on the bed, just so I could be near him.

“That’s because the people here haven’t considered 304/431

everything. But we’re from the twenty-first century. We know what’s possible.”

Jane shook her head. “Knowing what’s possible and being able to replicate it are two entirely different things.”

And so there was Tristan standing alone underneath the dragon again, and no one seemed to be bothered by this except for me. I poked at the blanket on the bed with irritation. “If you’re not going to use your knowledge, then what’s the point of being smart? Anyone could shoot a bow. I could do it.”

“But you’re not going to,” Tristan said with more forcefulness than he needed. To Hunter he added, “Your job tomorrow is to make sure Savannah stays out of trouble.”

“Could we feed it explosives?” I asked. “You told me it cooks its food inside its mouth.”

“They didn’t have explosives in the Middle Ages,” Hunter said.

“But that doesn’t mean they didn’t have the ingredients,” I said. “What’s dynamite made out of? Or gunpowder?”

Tristan tilted his head back, his eyes narrowed in concentration. “She’s right. Gunpowder was made from natural components. Fertilizer is one of them and they have plenty of that here. What are the other ingredients?” 305/431

Hunter leaned forward. He snapped his fingers trying to remember. “Saltpeter. The colonials made it during the Revolutionary War. It’s part potassium nitrate and you mix it with something . . .” I looked at Jane to see if she knew the answer, but she was turning pages in her history book. “Black powder,” she said. “Developed in China in the ninth century . . .

spread to Europe between the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries.”

Tristan’s brows furrowed with concentration. “But what are the ingredients?”

Hunter picked up his chemistry book and flipped through the pages. To himself he said, “What reacts with potassium nitrate?”

Black powder. I never even remembered hearing about it in history class, but I had plenty of practice guessing for tests. “It’s got to be something black,” I said.

Tristan’s gaze shot over to mine and he smiled. “Charcoal. It’s mixed with charcoal.”

“And sulfur,” Hunter said. He turned the book around and pointed to a bunch of letters, numbers, and arrows that meant nothing to me but made the other two say,

“Ahhh.”

Now everyone leaned together, making a semicircle around Tristan. “What about the ratios?” Hunter asked.

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“We’ll have to experiment,” Tristan said. “I’ll see how much charcoal and sulfur I can buy from the castle alchemists.”

“Do we know how to make saltpeter?” Jane asked.

The guys looked at each other and laughed.

“What?” I said.

“That’s the fertilizer part,” Tristan said. “It’s basically what happens when you combine a decaying material and urine. Your basic dung heap.” I sat up straighter. “How do you guys know this sort of thing?”