text: From under the big door and around its edges, a dark cold voice seeped out, enveloping them. At first the words were lost in the dark and the cold. But after a moment they could make out what was being said.
  
  "TONIGHT!" the voice said.
  
  Next to that awful voice, Magister Hickory's answer was tiny, tinny, and weak. "We have the number to defeat you. We have the requisite one hundred and thirteen."
  
  The voice laughed.
  
  "It sounds like cobwebs in corners," whispered Will.
  
  "It sounds like shouts down a rain barrel," whispered Tansy.
  
  "It sounds like distant thunder up close," whispered Gorse.
  
  Thornmallow was silent. What it sounded like to him was doom, but he didn't say that. He was remembering what Magister Briar Rose had told him—that things said aloud in Wizard's Hall could become real. He had already broken one promise to Magister Hickory—the one about telling. He would not break the other. He would try.
  
  Working hard at smiling, Thornmallow winked at his friends. It was the longest, the most difficult wink he ever managed. "Cows," he said. "Cows sound like that—MOOOOOO. MOOOOOO. And we milk them." He wondered if saying that aloud would have any effect.
  
  Gorse snapped, "You don't understand, Thornmallow. This is serious. Whoever that is has The Voice. Only the greatest of Magisters has The Voice."
  
  "And I say that voice sounds like cows," Thornmallow said again.
  
  "Bet you know a lot about cows," said Gorse.
  
  "I know more about cows than magic," Thornmallow answered.
  
  Tansy put a hand on both their shoulders. "Why are you two arguing?" she asked.
  
  "MOOOOOO!" Thornmallow said, determined to get the last word in. All of a sudden they all laughed. Somehow his clowning had relaxed them.
  
  But no sooner had they sighed their little bit of relief than the cold, dark voice began again.
  
  "One hundred and thirteen, Hickorystick? Mere numbers do not impress me. But I will im-press you. We will meet again in the Great Hall at midnight, and then you will see how little I care for your puny magicks and your useless spells. You thought once I was not good enough to run your miserable Hall. But now I will run my Beast through it and enjoy the sight."
  
  This time the laugh that accompanied The Voice shook splinters from the door, and the gold lightning jets fell out, clattering at their feet. A clap of thunder shook the walls. Will and Gorse fell to the ground, hands over their ears. Tansy grabbed Thornmallow's fingers and squeezed them until he felt sure the bones cried out.
  
  Then the door flew open. The four of them melted back against the wall, trying to act like paint.
  
  Out stumbled Magister Hickory, his great mane of hair lying limp on his shoulders. His handsome face seemed like ancient parchment stretched over gaunt bones. Stooping, he felt for the wall with one palsied hand.
  
  "Magister Hickory!" cried Thornmallow, rushing to him. "What can we do to help?"
  
  "What can you do?" Magister Hickory looked old and confused. There was a tremor building in his lower lip.
  
  "We can run," said Gorse, quite definitely.
  
  "We can hide," said Will.
  
  "We can do what Thornmallow said," Tansy whispered.
  
  Magister Hickory turned toward her uncertainly, his lusterless eyes afraid. "What is that, child?"
  
  "We can try," Tansy whispered.
  
  Thornmallow reached for her hand. It felt warm and safe in his. "Yes," he said, "we can try." Saying it aloud like that made it real.
  
  They surrounded Magister Hickory, touching his hands and arms. "Yes, we can," they cried out together. "We can try."
  
  Slowly Magister Hickory straightened up. He ran a hand tentatively through his mane of hair. His eyes began to clear, and he looked at his students one at a time, as if drawing strength from their eager faces. At last he said, "Did you hear The Voice?"
  
  Thornmallow spoke for them all. "We heard, sir."
  
  "And what it said?"
  
  Gorse added, "We did."
  
  "And still you will try?"
  
  Together they said, "We will."
  
  Magister Hickory touched each of their faces in turn, as if assuring himself they were really there, not some bit of magic forced upon him by his enemy. The last face he touched was Thornmallow's. He smiled, which made his lower lip stop trembling.
  
  "Then so will I, my children," he said, his voice getting stronger with each word. "So will I."