“We’re going AWOL,” said Taylor with a very quiet whoop. “No more tests, no more tutorials, no more Math class, no more lectures—and no more puzzles at The Maze—until we finish our mission.”

Patricia stuffed a toothbrush and three pairs of underwear, plus a tattered copy of Tales of the City, into her satchel. She was going on an adventure—she was going to make a difference. She almost danced down the mahogany staircase in the North Residential Wing of Eltisley Hall, except that Sameer kept shushing her. She squirmed with adrenaline as they broke into the magic airship and spoofed their way past the security questions.

“Hell to the yeah,” Patricia said as they spiraled up off the ground. “Let’s do this.” She and Taylor high-fived, and then Patricia and Sameer hugged while Diantha laughed from the cockpit, whose controls were wooden grapevines and figs.

The expedition didn’t feel real until they were over the Arctic and the moonlight had given way to two sheets of sunlight—sky and ice, both painful to behold. Patricia’s joy went sour. She looked out at the vastness below and couldn’t tell one bright streak from another.

“We have to hit them before they know we’re here,” Diantha said from the cockpit. “I hope everybody is prepared for any eventuality.” Patricia, Toby, Sameer, and Taylor all said yes.

“We’re doing the right thing,” Taylor said as they set down. “We’ve studied long enough.”

Patricia was wishing she’d brought another three layers of clothing: She could do a spell to keep herself warm, but it would be a distraction. She wound her scarf around her neck and lower face, as many times as it would go.

“Toby, you’re on transmutation of metals, because you’re our best Healer. If it’s steel, you turn it to tin,” Diantha said as they stepped out of the ship. “Sameer and Taylor, you will confuse and confound any opposition we may encounter. I will attempt to seal any borehole in a spectacularly irreparable fashion. And Patricia? You will bring the full fury of nature down on them. Be creative.”

They all high-fived and set off across the tundra toward the drilling installation, which looked like a lighthouse on the ice, with a single rusty structure on top of a platform, supported by four squat legs connected by the lower half of a pentagram. On one side of the drill was some kind of pumping station with a bulging metal sleeve. On the other side, Patricia saw a huge diesel tank that had probably been airlifted there and a number of snowmobiles and retrofitted trucks. Looking at a massive tank marked “WARNING: HIGHLY FLAMMABLE,” sitting on top of the world’s largest reservoir of methane, Patricia shivered. Her apprehension shaded into terror.

“Guys,” Patricia said. “I think we ought to stop and—”