“Sit down!” Jones snapped. She tried to block my way to the window. I knocked right into her, caught her off balance, and pushed her aside.

“Cobane! You filthy, filthy—”

Her shouts faded into the background. I reached the window, frantically searching the arena. Surely I had heard wrong. Oh, God! William was easy to spot in the open space. He was the tallest man—a giant. There were three Guards escorting him to the gallows.

“No! No! No!” I pounded on the window. I had to break it.

Behind me, Jones’ fist caught my head and I whiplashed forward, headlong into the window overlooking the arena. A gash split my forehead.

I didn’t even feel it. I continued to flail. “No! There’s been a mistake!”

She hit me again, opening another cut. It spewed blood.

Red washed over my eyes, blocking my vision. I blinked as fast as I could, but not fast enough. I couldn’t see a thing.

Jones took me by the neck. She dragged me down to the ground. I pushed away violently. I was on my feet in a flash. Back at the window, I smashed blindly with both fists. “We have to break it!” I cried, incoherent with panic.

No one answered.

Vaguely, I heard Jones at my back, rummaging through her desk.

Tears were washing the blood from my eyes, and soon I could see again. Out to the arena. Right near the gallows. William and three Guards. William, stepping onto the wood stairs, mounting them. Up, up, without even a struggle. A rope around his neck. A sack on his head.

“No! Fight!” I screamed. My throat was raw. “Fight!” If he tried he could throw them off, but he wasn’t trying. He wasn’t fighting. He had laid down his club. They tightened the noose. There was a lever by his leg. The third Guard, the smallest, pulled it. A resounding thunk, as the platform dropped from beneath him—my father.

“Papa, Papa, Papa! I’m sorry. Papa, I’m sorry, forgive me. No!” I threw myself at the window, opening more wounds, again and again. It was too late. I was too late. He was hanged. I started to wail. “No!”

Suddenly, Jones was back. She was shouting, incoherently. Her fist came down. The lights flashed and the wailing stopped.

* * *

I woke disoriented. I was on my side in the Pit—the dream Pit. I sat up and looked around. I frowned. Something was different. I was on the ground as always, having landed here from the hallway above. To my left, down the way, I saw the mewling girl, rocking and mouthing as always. But there, just above me. That was different! There was a small square of light up there as if someone, whoever made dreams, had forgotten to close the Schoolhouse hole I’d fallen through. Voices echoed through it.

“Is she dead?”

That sounded like Hannibal.