Angela Ant's Arc

Chapter 9 of 10

Tracie's words sat in Angela's chest all night. The witch had watched two crossings. Two was a count. A count meant a plan. At first light, Angela climbed to the tunnel mouth. Tracie was already there, boots dusted, vest pockets full. "She's studying you," Tracie said. "Timing. Where you slow. Where you rest." "How do you know?" "I watched her watch. She counts on her fingers when you're in the log." Angela's feelers went cold. If Matilda knew the log, the log was not shelter. It was a trap with a lid. "I have to see what she's doing," Angela said. "Before I cross again." Tracie nodded like she'd been waiting for that. "There's a broken flowerpot against her fence. Tipped on its side. The crack faces her yard." "You've been over there." "Twice. She doesn't look down." They went the long way, along the roots and under the hedge. The clay pot sat where Tracie said, red and split, one jagged crack wide enough for two ants to press their heads through. Angela climbed inside. The crack framed Matilda's back step like a window. Matilda was on the step with a slate. She drew a line across it. She marked a dot at one end, a dot at the other, and a smaller mark in the middle. "The hill," Tracie whispered. "The cottage. The log." Matilda tapped the middle mark. Then she set something on the slate beside it. A brass lantern, no bigger than a walnut, with wings folded against its sides. She turned a knob. The lantern woke with a green glow, soft at first, then bright enough to throw color on her chin. "Signal light," Angela breathed. Matilda smiled at it. She wrapped it in a cloth and tucked it into her apron. Then she picked up the slate and wiped the middle mark clean. Angela understood. Matilda meant to sit near the log with that lantern and flash it at Summer Sun's cottage. Summer Sun would see a light from the field and come running to a log that held a witch instead of an ant. Angela backed out of the pot. Her legs shook. "We go now," she said. "Before she moves." They ran the long way to the cottage. Angela climbed the step and up onto Summer Sun's palm and told her everything in one breath. The slate. The three marks. The green lantern in the apron. Summer Sun's face did not change, but her fingers closed a little around Angela. "She wants me to open the log," Summer Sun said. "Yes." "Then any light from that field is a lie now. Only the mirror. Only in daylight. And only if Tracie is on my step first, telling me you left." Angela's feelers lifted. The log was still hers. The signal was still hers. But the rules had just grown a second ant in them, and the witch had made her own light for nothing.