I was glad Darla and Gertriss were keeping Buttercup out of sight. I was also acutely aware of how few places they’d have to hide her, should the mood in the House turn ugly.

I looked at the faces glaring up at me and amended that. The mood was already ugly. The sudden descent into midnight dark at noon had just completed the transformation.

Evis moved first, simply marching down into the mob. I’m not sure they’d have parted for me, but Evis sent them tripping in their haste to give him room.

I followed in his wake. Marlo came thundering down the stairs and fell in behind me with a curse and a piercing glare. The crowd broke up. This time.

“What have they done to the sky?” Marlo had the good sense to whisper.

“No idea. But it isn’t an immediate danger.” I explained that it would lower itself very slowly. Marlo took little comfort from that.

“Looks like they’re planning on just squeezing us out.”

“They don’t want to hurt the banshee. They can’t bring down the House without risking that.”

Marlo snorted, obviously unconvinced. I changed the subject.

“How’s the Lady?”

“Resting. Took a lot out of her. And no, she ain’t up to another hex, and ain’t gonna be for a while.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“Right. But that’s your answer anyway. Reckon that man in the cornfield is brewin’ up something for us about now?”

“Bet on that.”

“Reckon he’d better be quick about it.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

Darla and Gertriss came darting out of the gallery hall, Buttercup dangling between them. The banshee was giggling and swinging, one hand clutched on Darla’s shoulder, the other on Gertriss.

“You two. Upstairs. Find Mama. Stay with her.”

Gertriss nodded, all business. Darla gave me a weak smile and hurried off up the stairs.

Marlo glanced around before he spoke. “Just so you know, Finder. There’s been talk about that there banshee of yours, and how it ought to be gutted and thrown out the door.”

“Thanks for the warning, Mr. Marlo. And just so you know, the first one to try it will likely experience some gutting themselves.”

“Just watch your self, that’s all I’m saying. People are scared. You know what happens when people get scared.” He looked suddenly thoughtful. “Maybe I ought to show them a room with a good strong door. Might be best to get them out of sight.”

I just nodded, and was suddenly glad that Mama and her cleaver were handy.

The catapults didn’t burn.

I hadn’t really thought they would. The timbers were too green, and the crews managed to get the fires out far quicker than we’d hoped. Worse, the ropes Lady Werewilk had ruined with her sorcery were being replaced on two of the engines as we watched, which meant they’d be ready to start tearing down our walls by sunset. Two catapults would wreck the House just as effectively as three.

All our efforts might have bought us another few hours of safety. No more.

I hoped Hisvin’s bag of tricks was deep and potent.

Evis dared the top floors long enough to measure the reflective spell’s descent, and placed it at about a foot an hour. That gave us maybe forty hours before we’d be forced into the tunnels. It also meant the army outside would need to pull back. We couldn’t see the edges of the spell, so we had no idea how far it extended, or if even the deep woods tunnel would carry us beyond it.

We could hear the soldiers outside, winding the catapults again, using a team of Lady Werewilk’s plowing oxen to speed the process. The soldiers in the yard ambled freely about now, sometimes shouting at us, or hurling debris at the door amid hoots of laughter. All the outbuildings were burned or aflame, and I could hear half a dozen women sobbing as they realized the smoke they smelled was the smoke from their burning homes.

Aside from Marlo and Evis, no one spoke to me. Oh, they glared and they whispered, doubtlessly laying the blame for their current ills at my feet, but they dared not call me out directly. I kept Toadsticker in plain view just in case someone got brave.

An hour passed. Outside, ropes were wound, wagons were parked, men idled or ate or sharpened their blades.

Somewhere a clock was striking off the third hour when they finally approached Lady Werewilk’s door and the moment I’d been dreading arrived.

“In the house,” called a man. He had a faint accent I couldn’t place. “You’ve got something we want.”

The Lady was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Marlo. I ignored the glares of the household staff and shoved my way close to the heap of furniture stacked in front of the door.

“We’re all out of turnips,” I shouted. “But if it’s onions you want, you can have all you can carry.”

“I’m not going to ask more than once.”

“Ask for what? You haven’t been very clear about what it is you’re after. We simple country folk simply don’t understand your subtle big-city ways.”

Something struck the door. I guessed it was an axe. Behind me, the gardeners and cooks and carpenters were beginning to hiss and mutter.

I turned to face them, whipped Toadsticker out of my belt, and grinned.

“Anybody else wants to take over, step right up. Otherwise shut it. What’ll it be?”

They inched back. I heard feet on the stairs, heading for the Lady’s room, but that was just fine by me.

“Give us the banshee.”

“The what?”

“The banshee. Give it to us, and you live. Make us come and get it, and everybody dies.”

“So you have no interest at all in onions?”

“You’re dead,” said the man outside. “How long do you think those walls will stand? My engineers tell me three throws from each ought to open you right up.” He raised his voice, making sure everyone around could hear. “Why die for the banshee? It’s not even human. Give it to us. Or die. Your choice.”

The muttering behind me got suddenly louder. Words emerged.

“Why not?” said someone.

“Ain’t ready to die,” said another.

“We can take him,” said a third.

I put my back to the nearest clear patch of wall.

They rushed me. Two carpenters. Two gardeners. A stable boy. A woodsman. Two had swords, the rest held makeshift clubs.

Had they been soldiers, I’d have died there, right by the Lady’s big red doors. But they came in a bunch, elbows touching, feet nearly tangled, eyes mad with more fear than fury.

I sidestepped, brought Toadsticker up horizontally, deflected a pair of clumsy overhand blows, landed a solid kick on one knee and a nice hard punch in a beer-reddened face. Bodies collided, one fell, another went down with him in a sudden tangle of limbs. I thumped the woodsman on his cheek with the flat of Toadsticker’s blade and gave a carpenter a long shallow cut across his forehead and the stable boy dropped his club and ran and it was over as suddenly as it had begun.

They scrambled away. The man outside shouted again.

“Give us the banshee.” He struck the door again. “Last chance.”

“Tell him to go to Hell.”

The Lady’s hirelings whirled to find her leaning wearily on the stair. Marlo was at her side, holding her upright.

“This House has stood for three hundred and seventy years,” she said. “Stood through Elves and Trolls and fires and storms. How dare any of you decide this is the day we turn into a House of cowards.”

The Lady’s eyes flashed. “Tell him,” she said, to me.

“Nothing doing,” I shouted, at the door. “No banshees for you today. I’m also told you can go to Hell. Furthermore, a suggestion was made that your mother was a donkey. I myself dispute that last part, because-”

Something struck the door. The timbers buckled visibly inward. The makeshift barricade shifted and groaned.

The Lady stiffened. Marlo opened his mouth to issue a protest, but too late. She raised her hands, made a gesture that blurred the air, and spoke a harsh strange word.