“Not at first. At first I tried to rally my kin, but they were weary of fighting. Eventually they turned on me. But I still plotted. And I wasn’t completely alone. I still had friends willing to help me.”
“Leroux?” asked Moth excitedly.
“Yes. And someone else.” The great eyes of the dragon fell again on Esme. “She was the one who stole the Starfinder. By then she and Leroux were already in love. I hid them here, in this hideaway. But the Skylords knew what Esme had done. They punished her, did… that to her.”
Moth was beginning to understand. “That’s when you gave Leroux the Starfinder.”
Merceron nodded. “We made a pact. We knew the Skylords would never enter the human world. I promised Leroux I’d find a way to return Esme to normal. And Leroux made a vow to return here one day with Esme. But he never did, because he never figured out how to use the Starfinder.”
“What about my grandfather?” asked Fiona. “Was he part of the pact too?”
“Your grandfather knew what we’d found, Fiona, but he couldn’t speak of it. It was forbidden for him to come across the Reach, and even though he wanted the Starfinder it wasn’t his to claim. He and Leroux both promised never to speak of it to anyone. Leroux would try to unlock its secrets, but if he died before doing so…”
“The Starfinder would be Rendor’s,” said Moth.
“No!” Fiona protested. “We can’t let him have it. He hates the Skylords. If he has the Starfinder he’ll just use it to invade here.”
“Merceron, all I want is to help Esme,” said Moth. “Can the Starfinder change her back? After that… well, I don’t know. But Esme needs our help.”
Merceron’s eyes swelled with sympathy. “Only the Skylords can change her back. The Starfinder can’t help you with that.”
“So what do we do?” asked Fiona.
“Nothing.” Merceron dropped back into his chair. “I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time coming here.”
“What do you mean?” asked Moth.
“I’ve told you my story. That’s all I can do.”
“What? No! You have to help us. Leroux said you would.”
“He was wrong. I told you, there’s no way to save Esme. It’s impossible.” Merceron picked up his pipe again. “I’ve done all that I can.”
Fiona stepped forward, her face thunderous. “You told us you owe Esme. Is this how you’re going to repay her? She’ll be a bird forever if you don’t help us!”
Merceron ground his teeth. “I’m stuck here, don’t you see? An outcast! If the Skylords find me they’ll kill me for sure.”
“But we can’t go home,” said Moth. “If we do, Rendor will get the Starfinder.”
The dragon lit his pipe with a flick of his claws. “You may stay here for a day. Only for a day. The Skylords will find you if you remain any longer.”
“You mean they’ll find you,” sneered Fiona. “Some dragon you turned out to be! I thought dragons were supposed to be fierce. But you know what? You’re just a coward.”
“Fiona, stop…”
Merceron wouldn’t look at either of them. Bristling at his disregard, Fiona stormed off into a connecting chamber.
“She’s like her grandfather,” sniffed the dragon. “He had a head like granite, too.”
Unsure what to do or say, Moth took Lady Esme onto his shoulder, then started after Fiona.
“Moth?”
Moth paused. “Yeah?”
“Have you figured it out yet?”
“What?”
“About Esme. Have you figured it out yet?”
Moth bit his lip. “Uhm, I don’t think so…”
“Oh, you must have,” said Merceron. “Think! Why didn’t the Skylords kill Esme? She stole the Starfinder, conspired against them. She even fell in love with a human. Why do you think they’d ever let someone like that go free?” Before Moth could answer, the dragon swung his big head around. “Because she’s one of them, Moth. Lady Esme is a Skylord.”
TINKERING
INSIDE MERCERON’S LAIR, night and day felt precisely the same. There were no windows to the outside world, and no clocks among the clutter lining the shelves. Moth only knew it was bedtime because he was so tired, yet sleep somehow evaded him. Beneath his threadbare blanket he gazed into the crackling hearth, remembering how the dragon had lit it for them with a snort of fiery breath. Fiona lay beside him, staring up at the dark ceiling, a roof so high it was almost like being outside.
Throughout the night she had barely said a word. Even the news about Lady Esme garnered only a cynical shake of her head. She had gone off to explore the lair alone, finding a treasure trove of handmade objects, including an enormous pianolike instrument carved from a giant tree trunk.
Moth rolled onto his back to gaze up at the ceiling with Fiona. The way the firelight twinkled on the stone made him think of the Starfinder, and then about Esme. He stole a sideways glance at Fiona, trying to think of something—anything—to wrest her from her mood.
“I’ve never been swimming,” he whispered. “My mother told me she used to swim in a lake at night when she was a little girl back in—”
“Why are you telling me this?” Fiona interrupted.
“Just thinking.” Moth’s eyes scanned the walls, picking out the shadowy knickknacks on the shelves. “Look at all these things he’s made. Must help him pass the time.”
“Sure. He’s got nothing better to do.”
“Look, I know you’re angry,” said Moth, “but we’ll figure this out. Remember what Raphael said? We got each other, and we got each other this far.”
“Yeah, he was a big help,” grumbled Fiona. “Just like Merceron. Just another person willing to walk out on us.” Her face bunched up in a grimace. “Just like everyone else.”
Moth sat up and leaned on his elbow. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe the Starfinder can locate someone else who can help Esme. Maybe there’s another wizard we can ask.”
“We don’t even know what the constellations are here, Moth. We only found Merceron ’cause Leroux told you to.”
“Yeah, but Merceron would know. He could tell us that, at least.”
“Fine,” said Fiona. “You go ask him.”
She rolled onto her side, turning her back on him. Undeterred, Moth tossed off his blanket and quietly left the chamber. He hadn’t seen Merceron since going to bed, but he supposed the dragon was sleeping, too. But when he reached the main chamber it was empty, with only a puny fire sputtering in the gigantic hearth. Across the cavern a sliver of light crept in from the big metal door.
“Merceron?”
Moth went to the door and peered outside. Just beyond the threshold he caught a glimpse of Merceron in the strangled moonlight. The dragon was down on his haunches, concentrating on a long ribbon that looked like leather or bark, pulling it tightly in his claws and stripping it down with his teeth. Around him was scattered all manner of bric-a-brac—huge squares of animal skins, bent metal rods, tree branches, shavings of wood. There were tools, too, punches and chisels and needles, but mostly Merceron worked with his teeth and claws. All alone beneath the protective canopy, he stripped down the supple ribbon, bending it occasionally to test it.
“Come closer if you want to see,” said Merceron suddenly. “Your staring makes me nervous.”
“Sorry,” said Moth, stepping closer. “What are you doing?”
“Keeping busy. Where’s your friend? Sleeping?”
“Kind of,” said Moth, running his eyes over the dragon’s pile of material. “She’s kind of upset.”
Merceron kept on working, punching holes in the long ribbon with his pinky claw. “And Esme?”
“She’s all right. She’s with Fiona. One thing about old Esme, she could sleep through anything. Even Leroux’s snoring.”