“Something wrong, Major?” Skyhigh asked. An awkward smile swam on his face.
Major Hark looked him over. “Where you been?”
“Just going to get something to eat…”
“Skyhigh, these men work for the Governor,” said Hark. “They’ve been looking for you.”
“Yeah?” Skyhigh considered the men. Each had the air of Capital City about them, a kind of well-bred, well-dressed corruption. They were the men who’d searched Leroux’s apartment, he was sure.
“Captain Coralin, you need to come with us,” said one of them, stepping forward. He was a tall, serious fellow, brawny beneath his tailored suit. His eyes locked on Skyhigh like manacles.
“Skyhigh, it’s about the Governor’s granddaughter,” said Hark. “She’s gone missing. These men seem to think you know something about that.”
Skyhigh made his decision in an instant. “Well that’s just fine,” he drawled. “I’ve got a few things to say to the Governor myself.” Without a word to Hark, Skyhigh spun toward the center of the city, gesturing for the men to follow. “Hurry up. Let’s not keep the old man waiting.”
BLUEBELLS
FOR TWO HOURS MOTH and Fiona camped at the bottom of the mountain, huddled in their oversized coats and nibbling at the meat pies in their pockets as they waited for the sunrise. The trek from Calio had exhausted them both, slogging down a seldom traveled road to the foot of the mountain where the Reach lapped at the world like a giant ocean. There, in the shelter of an old oak tree, they rested and tried to keep warm, watching Lady Esme as she hopped along the rocks.
Then, like fireworks on a holiday, fingers of sunlight crawled through the Reach. Moth and Fiona gave their city one last look before entering the churning wall of fog.
Instantly, they vanished.
After barely three paces, Calio and the rest of the world disappeared behind them. Moth and Fiona gazed at their surroundings, wide-eyed at the white cloak that descended over them. Moth stretched out his hand, trying to catch a sparkling pinpoint of light. Like fireflies they swirled in the mists, blinking out of existence at the touch of his fingers. Lady Esme jumped up onto Moth’s shoulder.
Fiona raised her face to the sky, but the sky was gone. The canteens at her belt clanged like cowbells. They had taken everything they could carry with them, filling their pockets with matches and candles and food. Their long, rumpled coats trailed along the ground. Each wore a pair of boots too large for their feet.
“Which way?” asked Fiona, her head swiveling. “I can’t see anything at all.”
Moth searched the landscape, unable to see even a few yards ahead. Already he felt lost. “Just keep going,” he said, trying to sound confident. “As long as we keep heading straight we’ll make it through.”
He pictured the Reach as it looked from Calio, stretching on forever and ever, all the way to the horizon. But the Reach was a trickster, Leroux had told him.
“You just keep on walking,” he whispered, “right into another world.”
“I can’t even tell where I’m going,” said Fiona.
Moth summoned a picture of Leroux in his mind. Just keep walking…
Lady Esme was silent on his shoulder, ruffling her feathers against the dewy fog. Her sharp eyes strayed upward, searching for the sky. Fiona was right—it was hard to walk even a straight line. Moth’s heart began to pound. Already he felt lost.
“Moth?” said Fiona. “What about that star-thingy?”
Moth tried to remember exactly what Leroux had told him. “Leroux said it would help me find the wizard.”
“Take it out,” said Fiona. “Let’s try.”
They paused while Moth fished the strange gift from his pocket. He had wrapped the instrument carefully in a soft, brown cloth he’d found in the hangar, the kind used for polishing aircraft. Gingerly he unwrapped it, pleased to see it intact. There were no scratches, no fingerprints, not even a smudge on its flawless mirror.
“What now?” asked Fiona. She looked at Moth as if she actually expected an answer.
Just as he had done back in Calio, Moth held the instrument to his eye and peered through the scope. Through the lens he saw the fog and the bright, mysterious lights, but nothing more. He lowered the instrument and saw Fiona’s disappointed face in its mirror.
“Nothing.”
Fiona reached out. “Let me try.” She held the object high above her head and loudly commanded, “Show us Merceron!”
“Fiona, that’s not going to work.”
“Why not? If it’s really magical it should work that way.”
Moth snatched the thing back from her. “C’mon! This isn’t a fairy tale. We have to figure out how it really works. No magic words, no three wishes, none of that applesauce.”
“How do you know? I mean, Leroux didn’t tell you how to use it, right?”
Moth grimaced, toying with the thing’s mysterious levers.
“Right?”
“Okay, right. But I’m not gonna talk to it. Maybe we just have to get out of here, wait for the stars to come back. Then maybe it’ll work.”
Fiona glanced around. “Moth?”
“Yeah?”
“Which way were we heading?”
“Huh? This way…” Moth spun about, realizing that everything looked the same. “I think.”
“Oh…”
“No, don’t panic,” said Moth. His chest tightened, but he refused to look afraid. He looked down at his feet and the way his boots had disturbed the ground. “That way,” he pointed.
“You sure?”
Moth wasn’t sure. “No,” he admitted, but when he looked at Esme he noticed her sharp eyes looking straight ahead. “Look at her,” he said. “Esme knows the way!”
The kestrel’s gaze was full of certainty. Moth wrapped the instrument carefully in its cloth and settled it back in his pocket.
“Go on, Esme,” he told the bird. “Lead us through.”
Without a moment’s hesitation Esme started out, hopping confidently through the fog.
“Stay close,” Moth warned Fiona. He put out his hand for her. “Let’s keep together.”
Fiona took his hand. “Just don’t let go, okay?”
They continued for an hour, hand in hand, neither of them speaking. Moth held faithfully to what Leroux had told him—the Reach simply didn’t go on forever. All they had to do was keep on walking.
Soon, he told himself. In ten more steps we’ll see the end.
But ten steps later, the fog only seemed thicker. Moth expected Fiona to start complaining, but she didn’t. Instead, she began whispering to herself, her voice so low Moth could barely hear it. When he turned to look at her, her eyes were closed.
“What are you doing?” Moth asked.
Fiona’s fingers tightened around his hand. “Thinking about good things,” she said, and kept on walking, eyes shut, lips whispering.
“Huh?”
“It’s a game my mother taught me,” Fiona explained. “Whenever you’re scared you just close your eyes and try to remember the best times of your life. You call up the memories real clear, and it’s just like you’re there again.”
“Don’t be scared,” said Moth. “We’re not lost. We just gotta keep on walking.”
“Hush up,” said Fiona. Quickly she fell back into her trance, rifling through her treasure chest of memories. Moth led her on through the fog.
“What are you thinking about right now?” he asked.
A smile lit Fiona’s face. “Once when my parents were alive they took me on a train ride to Rivena. There was a man on the train doing card tricks with a monkey, and when we got to Rivena we all went on a balloon ride over the river.” Fiona gave a tiny moan, like she was tasting something delicious. “I was eight years old. I remember ’cause it was my birthday.” Fiona opened her eyes. “Now you try.”