Free Dark Lord of Derkholm by Diana Wynne Jones

stone and then around Kit. After a mere minute Barnabas said, “Right. Now activate.” And the entire tangle of beams and marble slabs unfolded like a clawed hand and went to rest neatly stacked against the walls. “Can you move?” Barnabas asked Kit.
    Kit said, “Umph. Yes.” And then, as he rose to a crouch and started to crawl forward: “Yeeow-ouch!” Derk watched him struggle forward across the rubble that had been the hall. At least all Kit’s limbs seemed to be working.
    â€œLook on the bright side,” Finn said. “You’re halfway to a ruined Citadel already. Want us to stabilize it?”
    â€œYes, but how do we get up to the bedrooms?” Derk said, looking up at the ragged hole in the roof. “And Shona’s piano was up on the second floor.”
    â€œIt’s still up there,” said Barnabas, “or we’d have met it by now. Better reassemble the stairs, Finn, and slap some kind of roof on, don’t you think? Derk, you’re going to owe us for this.”
    â€œFine. Thanks,” said Derk. His mind was on Kit.
    Kit squeezed out through a gap beside the front door and flopped down on his stomach with his head bent almost upside down between his front claws. “My head aches,” he said, “and I hurt all over.” He was a terrible sight. Every feather and hair on him was gray with dust or cobwebs. There was a small cut on one haunch. Otherwise he seemed to have been lucky.
    Derk looked anxiously around for some sign of the others. Mara had gone, too, but he could hear her voice somewhere. In the chorus of voices answering, he could pick out Elda, Blade, Lydda, Don, and Callette. “Thank goodness,” he said. “You don’t seem to have killed any of the others.”
    Kit groaned.
    â€œAnd you could have done,” added Derk. “You know how heavy you are. Come along to your den, and let me hose you down with warm water.”
    Kit was far too big to live in the house these days. Derk led the way to the large shed he had made over to Kit, and Kit crawled after him, groaning. He made further long, crooning moans while Derk played the hose over him outside it, but that seemed to be because he had started to feel his bruises. Derk made sure nothing was broken, not even the long, precious flight feathers in Kit’s great wings. Kit grumbled that he had broken two talons.
    â€œBe thankful that was all,” Derk said. “Now, do you want to talk to me out here, or indoors in private?”
    â€œIndoors,” Kit moaned. “I want to lie down.”
    Derk pushed open the shed door and beckoned Kit inside. He felt guilty doing it, as if he was prying into Kit’s secrets. Kit did not usually let anyone inside his den. He always claimed it was in too much of a mess, but in fact, as Derk had often suspected, it was neater than anywhere in the house. Everything Kit owned was shut secretly away in a big cupboard. The only things outside the cupboard were the carpet Mara had made him, the huge horsehair cushions Kit used for his bed, and some of Kit’s paintings pinned to the walls.
    Kit was too bruised to mind Derk’s seeing his den. He simply crawled to his cushions, dripping all over the floor, too sore to shake himself dry, and climbed up with a sigh. “All right,” he said. “Talk. Tell me off. Go on.”
    â€œNo, you talk,” said Derk. “What did you think you were playing at there with Mr. Chesney?”
    Kit’s sodden tail did a brief hectic lashing. He buried his beak between two cushions. “No idea,” he said. “I feel awful.”
    â€œNonsense,” said Derk. “Come clean, Kit. You got the other four to pretend they couldn’t speak and then you sat there in the gateway. Why?”
    Kit said something muffled and dire into the cushions.
    â€œWhat?” said Derk.
    Kit’s head came up and swiveled savagely toward Derk. He