The Wizard's Map by Jane Yolen Page B

and ran to the bed, but before they could speak, the fire in the massive stone fireplace roared to life and the door slammed shut behind them.
    â€œI thought,” came Michael Scot’s slow drawl, “that ye two minikins would ne’er get here ... in time.”
    Peter turned around at once. “Let them go!” he shouted. “We’ll give you what you want—just let them go.”
    But Jennifer did not turn. Instead she shoved the map down into her jeans pocket and whispered to her little sister, “Everything will be all right, Molls. You’ll see.”
    Molly didn’t say a word, which was unlike her, and Jennifer guessed that some magic was keeping her mouth shut. But though she couldn’t speak, Molly blinked twice and a single tear fell from her right eye.
    â€œWe’ve got the map,” Peter was saying, “if you’ll trade.”
    Michael Scot smiled like a snake, all lips and no teeth. “Then gi’e it me.”
    Peter turned to Jennifer and held out his hand. “Jen?”
    â€œNo,” Jennifer said. “I don’t think so. Because once he’s got the map, he’s got us as well.”
    Michael Scot’s smile slowly disappeared. “It doesna pay to think too long, lass. Time is all on my side.”
    â€œTime, maybe,” said Jennifer, “but not right.”
    Michael Scot threw his head back and laughed quite heartily at that. The fire crackled as well.
    â€œThere is no right but power maks it so,” he said. Then he made a strange pass with his hand and everything—fire, cat, bed, wicker cages, summer hoose, and all—disappeared.
    Jennifer found herself standing on the gravel path by the great holm oak with the ironwork seat.
    Alone.

Fourteen
Cold Iron
    I will not cry,
Jennifer thought.
Michael Scot is nothing more them a school bully.
She’d learned all about bullies in sixth grade, when Horace Lanoose used to taunt Peter and her about being twins. As long as Peter knuckled under to Horace, and as long as she cried, he’d kept on: two weeks of name calling and pushing and shoving. But once Peter fought back and she refused to weep anymore, Horace had left them alone. True, he looked for the smaller fifth graders, easier to bully. But she and Peter taught what they’d learned so painfully to the younger kids, and after a while, Horace had no one left to bully at all.
    â€œI will not cry,” she said aloud, and sat down on the iron bench.
    â€œNor sob, neither,” came a voice from somewhere nearby, a rumbly sort of a voice.
    â€œNor blirt,” came another, this one higher pitched.
    â€œShe shall not weep, nor shall she cry,
    Lest sunburst blind her reddened eye,
" came a third, very feminine voice that had a kind of strange steel core.
    â€œWho’s there?” Jennifer whispered hoarsely, for she couldn’t see anyone around.
    â€œWho’s here, you mean,” said the rumbly voice.
    â€œWho’s snagging,” said the high voice.
    â€œWe three as one the band do make;
    The pleasure and the pain we’ll take,”
said the womanly voice.
    â€œShow me who you are!” cried Jennifer. Only the cracking of her own voice betrayed her fear.
    â€œShow us your magic first, child, and then we will show you ours,” said the rumbly voice.
    â€œI...” Jennifer began. “I have no magic. I’m an American.”
    The three voices chuckled together.
    â€œYou would not hear us at all, had you no magic,” grumbled the first voice.
    â€œOr need,” said the high voice.
    â€œWhere need is great, what spans the gap,
    Love, fortune, power in...”
    â€œThe map!” whispered Jennifer hoarsely.
    â€œThe map!” agreed all three voices.
    â€œShow it,” added the grambly voice.
    â€œI will not give it to you,” Jennifer said, more loudly than she meant to. “You cannot take it from me without my permission.” She