There was silence for a moment. The grin melted from Skyhigh’s face. “I don’t know what’s beyond the Reach. Maybe it’s full of women that turn into birds. Or maybe there’s just nothing there. And you know what? It doesn’t really matter. It’s just nice and quiet in the Reach, the way things ought to be. People like Rendor just stir the pot.” He gave Fiona a sideways glance. “No disrespect.”
Fiona grimaced. “I don’t care about him. All I want is to help Moth.” She folded her arms across her chest. “And I’m not going back.”
Moth gave her a sad smile. “It doesn’t matter, Fiona. Now that Leroux’s gone I need to think about getting on the train, getting away from here.”
“Not yet,” said Skyhigh. “Give me a couple of days first. Maybe things’ll blow over by then. If not… well, just stay put, all right?”
The thought of being alone was dreadful to Moth. Suddenly he was grateful Fiona had come. “I’ll stay put. Can’t really show my face around here anyway.”
“Good.” Skyhigh stood up and brushed the crumbs from his uniform. “I’ll be back as soon as I can get away. Might not be until tomorrow night. You think you’ll be okay until then?”
“Sure,” said Moth, though he really wasn’t. “I’ll be fine.”
Skyhigh smiled as he looked at Moth and Fiona, sitting together in the candlelight. “Kind of romantic here,” he joked. “Like I said, stay out of trouble.”
THE STAR-THINGY
MOTH HAD FORGOTTEN about the wizard until that night, when he dreamed of Leroux.
In the silence of the old hangar, he lay asleep in the loft near Fiona. Too exhausted to force himself awake, he looked upon Leroux’s face in the dream and was happy. They were together on a train, then suddenly in an airship, and Leroux seemed young again. He spoke clearly, without his cough, his eyes bright and free of cataracts. Until that point Moth hadn’t remembered what Leroux had said about Merceron.
“Are you embarrassed to tell them?” Leroux asked. “Do I embarrass you, Moth?”
“No!” Moth insisted. Now they were no longer in the sky, but had somehow dropped into a thick, merciless fog. “I don’t care what people say, Leroux. They can laugh; it’s okay.”
When he looked again, Leroux was dressed as an Eldrin Knight. “Merceron,” he said.
Moth felt lost in the mists. “I don’t want to talk about this. I want to go home, Leroux. With you.”
He sat up, breathing hard, relieved the dream was over. But he wasn’t at home or in the mists or on a train. He was in the darkness of the hangar. Fiona remained asleep beside him. At first he thought the dream had woken him, but then he heard an interminable scratching on the metal roof, like an animal trying to claw its way inside. Moth sat very still, listening for voices that never came. He heard the wind, smelled the must of the hangar. The scratching continued.
Long hours had passed since he’d last been outside. In the cover of night he was sure he wouldn’t be seen. The nub of a candle still burned on the ledge. As he reached for it, Fiona stirred.
“Moth?” Her voice was soft, half asleep. She blinked uncertainly. “What’s wrong?”
“Probably nothing,” Moth said gently. “I heard something, that’s all.”
The scratching came again. Fiona sat up and looked at the roof. “That?”
Moth started backing down the ladder. “I’ll check it out. Go back to sleep.”
“How can I?” Fiona scrambled out of her blanket. “I’m coming too.”
Moth didn’t argue. Together they climbed down the ladder, then tiptoed across the hard floor of the hangar, Moth leading the way toward the west side doors.
“Hold this,” he said, handing the candle to Fiona.
Encrusted with rust, the doors rattled as he jerked them apart.
“Shh!” hushed Fiona. “Not so loud.”
“It’s not me,” Moth argued. “They’re old.”
He slid the doors apart as quietly as he could, just wide enough for them to squeeze through. Cool mountain air struck their faces, blowing out Fiona’s candle. A full moon gazed down brightly on the city.
Moth realized quickly that the noise had stopped. Fiona noticed, too.
“Maybe we scared it away,” she suggested. “Whatever it was.”
Moth stepped out to look around the building, careful to stay within the shadows. “I don’t see any—”
Something came rushing from the sky. Moth leaped back. A flutter of outstretched wings brushed against him. In the light of the moon Moth saw the bird fluttering toward him.
“Esme!”
Lady Esme landed at his feet. Astonished, Moth and Fiona both knelt to greet her.
“How’d she find you?” asked Fiona.
“She must have been watching me!” said Moth. “She probably followed me all day!”
The bird called insistently, then leaped skyward and flew off. Moth jumped up to stop her.
“No!”
She winged her way over the hangar and out of sight. Moth and Fiona dashed around the building. Frustrated, Moth gazed up at the stars, wanting to scream.
“She’s gone!”
“Moth, quiet…”
Moth scanned the sky, desperate to find her. Then, as quickly as she had flown off, Lady Esme reappeared. This time, something large and silvery glinted in her talons. With effort the kestrel carried the object toward them, beating her wings and setting it on the grass.
“What is it?” asked Fiona, bending down to look.
Moth knelt and picked it up. “Some kind of instrument. Like for a ship.”
It looked like a sextant, a tool seamen used to navigate the oceans. At the top of the thing was a long tube with glass lenses, like a small telescope, attached to a wheel with pinpoint markings along its side. There were all manner of levers on the thing, engraved with symbols Moth didn’t understand. Near the bottom of the device a spotless mirror shone. As Moth lifted the object to look at it more closely, the mirror reflected his curious face. Fiona leaned over him, studying the thing. She reached out and pointed at the pinpoints on the wheel.
“They look like stars,” she observed.
“They do,” Moth agreed. “Like constellations.”
He pointed the instrument skyward and peered through the scope. A crystal clear image of stars exploded into view.
“Whoa, powerful…”
There was no distortion at all, as though he could just reach up and touch the heavens. He handed the strange object to Fiona, who did the same—and with the same awestruck reaction.
“Amazing. I’ve never seen anything so clear before!” She put her face close to the mirror, watching the reflection of her own, huge eyeball. “What’s this part for?”
Moth shrugged. “I don’t know. Sextants don’t have mirrors. And that writing on it—that’s not normal either.”
Lady Esme waited on the grass beside them. Moth’s eyes met Fiona’s, sharing the same impossible thought.
“This is Leroux’s gift,” Moth whispered. Suddenly he felt the chill of the mountain air. Lady Esme stared at them, her strange eyes full of intelligence. “Either you’re a very smart bird,” said Moth, “or you’re not a bird at all.”
Fiona kept her voice low. “That’s the thing my grandfather’s looking for,” she said. “It must be.”
“It’s from across the Reach,” said Moth. “That’s why he wants it. It’s probably something powerful. Magical, even.”
“But why would Leroux have it? And how would my grandfather know about it?”
There were too many questions and not enough answers. “This thing, whatever it’s called—this is what Leroux wanted me to use to help Lady Esme.” He leaned forward, studying the kestrel, looking for something—anything—to reveal the truth inside her. “Fiona, your grandfather wanted Esme because he knew she might have this thing. He probably knows she’s not really a bird.”