CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Hope for No Regret

“WHAT KIND OF DIFFICULTIES?” GABRIEL ASKED.

Mr. Meister stood in the parking lot, daktan in hand, watching it closely. “The Keeper is several miles away yet, still headed in our general direction. But the movement is slow. Far too slow for a vehicle—and even somewhat slow for walking. Worse, though, it seems the Keeper is wandering wildly, as if lost.” He raised a hand and wove it through the air. “It’s almost as if the daktan’s call were hard to hear.”

Horace stayed silent, beginning to wonder if he’d somehow damaged the daktan by sending it through the box. Had he scrambled the signal? But just then Chloe climbed into the cab again, the Alvalaithen swinging in Horace’s face, and he remembered—the Alvalaithen had once gone traveling too, and afterward it had worked just fine.

He set his doubts aside and tried to be logical. He considered the evidence: the Keeper’s meandering approach; moving forward at the pace of a slow walk; the current location somewhere vaguely to the northwest of where they were now. He summoned up what he knew about the area, and as soon as he did that, it all came together for him. “The river,” he said at once. “Bo Peep’s on a boat in the river.”

“River?” said Chloe. “What river?”

“The North Branch. It winds all around like crazy, especially up here. That explains the wandering. And the speed.”

She looked at him blankly.

“The Chicago River,” he clarified. “I swear, half the people in this city think the Chicago River ends after downtown. But the river comes in from the north, from way outside the city. Me and my dad go canoeing on the North Branch all the time. Lots of people do.”

“That old red canoe in your yard?” Chloe said, her voice thick with disbelief. “You actually put that thing in water? And then you get in it?”

Horace shrugged. “It floats.”

“Yeah, so does a marshmallow. But you’re not going to see me—”

“If you two are quite finished?” Mrs. Hapsteade said briskly, cutting Chloe off. She turned to Mr. Meister. “The river—that could explain it.”

“I believe it does,” Mr. Meister said thoughtfully. “And if that’s where our Keeper truly is, perhaps we can find a secluded spot along the bank for our encounter.”

“We definitely can,” Horace said. “All we have to do is stay on this road for another ten minutes or so, and we’ll practically hit the river. There’s a big stretch of parks and trails right there—woods and stuff on both banks.”

Mr. Meister’s left eye shone like an owl’s eye, keen and almost predatory. “Show me,” he said thickly, and he and Mrs. Hapsteade scrambled back into the crowded cab.

As Beck pulled out of the parking lot, growling slightly in an echo of the engine’s roar, Chloe nudged Horace. “So, canoeing. Wow.”

“What, you’ve never been in a canoe?”

“When I was little, yeah. But I didn’t know you were so outdoorsy.”

“We own a canoe. We go camping all the time.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I look at stars for a hobby.”

“True, but you also play marbles.”

“Marbles is really supposed to be an outdoor sport, you know.”

She snorted. “Sure. When I think of outdoor sports, I think of marbles right up there next to snowboarding and polo.”

“I’m sorry, is there a reason you’re so feisty tonight?”

Gabriel spoke without turning around. “She carries the daktan. I imagine it is not an easy task to stomach.”

Chloe opened her mouth to fire back—about to say something juicy and cutting, judging by the look on her face—but then she closed it again. She crossed her arms and exhaled bullishly through her nose. Several seconds later, Horace was shocked to feel a dazzling and indescribable swell of energy creep slowly into his left foot, a universe of stupefying sensation. He caught his breath and held it.

He knew at once what was happening, didn’t need to look over at Chloe to see that the dragonfly’s wings were whirring. She’d gone thin, and placed her own foot entirely inside his. He could feel her pulse, the electric signals in her muscles, even the curl of her toes. Past it all he could hear the faint, sweet music of the Alvalaithen, a humming, soaring chorus. But there was something else too, something fainter still. Something far more simple, and utterly sad, like a fish out of water gasping for breath, or the eyes of an abandoned child.

The daktan.

Horace tilted his head toward Chloe and felt her tilt back in return. “Just so you know how it feels,” she whispered, so low that only he could hear, and then she pulled her foot from his, leaving him empty with his thoughts. Mr. Meister gave them a pensive glance but didn’t comment.

A few minutes later Mrs. Hapsteade spoke, startling Horace. “Tell us when, Keeper.”

Horace looked around, trying to clear his head and find his bearings. “We’re getting close,” he said, and then he pointed to a road he recognized, running along a large uninterrupted patch of forest. “This is the way we usually go when we’re canoeing—there’s a landing somewhere over there in those trees. But I’m not really sure where the best spot for us would be. I’ve only really seen the whole woods from the water.”

“Perhaps we can get a better lay of the land,” Mr. Meister said, leaning forward and looking meaningfully across at Neptune.

“I’m on it,” she said, and began rolling down her window. A rush of cool night air poured in. And then, before Horace knew what was happening, Neptune started to hoist herself out the window. In a flash, she was outside, clinging to the side of the moving car, her free hand gripping her tourminda tight. Her cloak fluttered madly behind her.

Horace tried not to stare. No doubt Neptune had done this before, and no doubt it was perfectly safe—probably—but this was like a movie stunt.

“Why did no one tell me this is a thing that happens?” said Chloe. “Is this, like, what you guys do for fun on Wednesdays?”

Neptune ducked her head and peeked in. “Go on into the park,” she said. The rushing wind tore at her voice. “I’ll be back down in a jiffy.” And with that she pushed off with her powerful legs, launching herself into the sky and cruising quickly out of sight.

Horace and Chloe both leaned over, craning their necks to watch. “That is . . . kind of awesome,” Horace said, wondering how far the momentum of the car would carry her.

“Hmm,” Chloe said skeptically. “I bet she gets bugs in her teeth.”

Everyone looked at her, even Beck. “What?” she said innocently. “Professional hazards, right? We all have them.” She pointed at herself, Gabriel, and Horace in turn, reciting: “Scars and broken bones . . . pissing off all your friends . . . possibly shredding the very fabric of space-time.” She shrugged and sank back into the seat. “All I’m saying is, maybe swallowing a few mosquitoes isn’t so bad.”

The cab rolled on into the park. They passed an aquatic center, complete with a pool and twisting water slides, closed for the night. Beyond, an unlit parking lot was surrounded on all sides by dense woods. Somewhere in those trees, Horace knew, the North Branch of the Chicago River snaked by. If he was right, Little Bo Peep was somewhere upstream, following the call of the daktan that Chloe carried.

If he was right.

Beck slid into a spot at the far end of the darkened lot and shut down the car. Mr. Meister and Mrs. Hapsteade got out at once, and everyone but Beck followed—in fact, as Horace closed the door he could have sworn that the driver leaned back and drifted immediately to sleep, snoring softly.

Once outside, Horace stretched his legs, his foot still tingling with the memory of Chloe’s flesh inside his own. Meanwhile, Mr. Meister led Chloe aside and had her take out the daktan again, quickly focusing all his attention due north. Horace tried to remember what he could from river maps that he and his father had printed out. It was practically impossible to memorize the meandering river’s exact path, but he did recall that it took a big swing out to the west and then back east again, snaking all around as it went. If Little Bo Peep really was following the river, and if she was due north right now, he figured she must be about four or five miles upstream.

Horace tipped his head back and gazed into the clear sky above. The moon hadn’t risen yet into the night full of stars, and he could easily see Polaris almost directly over Mr. Meister’s head. He’d first learned to identify the North Star by tracing a line from the last two stars in the bowl of the Big Dipper, but now he could recognize it on sight. Meanwhile, off to the east, the Summer Triangle shone plainly—the bright stars Vega, Deneb, and Altair.

Abruptly he became aware of Gabriel beside him. “Can you see Neptune?” the older Warden asked, as if he somehow knew Horace was looking at the stars.

Horace laughed slightly. “The planet, or the person?” The planet Neptune couldn’t be seen with the naked eye, but most people didn’t know that.

“Either,” Gabriel replied good-naturedly.

Horace sighed and scanned the sky. “Neither,” he said, but no sooner had he spoken than there was a soft rustle overhead, and Neptune—the person, of course—dropped out of the darkness, slowing her fall with her cloak and alighting like a leaf right in front of them.

“I found a spot,” Neptune said as the other Wardens quickly gathered around. She led them north out of the parking lot and onto a well-worn path. They followed it for a hundred yards or so and then broke off into the dark woods. Neptune and Mrs. Hapsteade took out their jithandras. The combined violet-black light cast a sinister, magical glow onto the dark trees and made long shadows bob and sway all around. Sticks and leaves snapped and rustled unnervingly underfoot.

Horace glanced at Chloe and saw that her face was crumpled with worry and distaste. Part of this was the daktan, no doubt, but Horace suspected that some of it was the forest itself. Not everyone liked the wilderness, even a tiny slice of it like this one. He thought back to that first night he’d followed Chloe, before he even knew her name, and how she’d hidden from Dr. Jericho inside a tree. He hoped there’d be no need for that here tonight.

At last, perhaps a quarter mile from the parking lot, they came to the river. The North Branch was a smallish river, only thirty or forty feet wide, trees crowding both its banks. Horace hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said the river wound around like crazy. Just here it bent severely, like the end of a paper clip. It flowed up from the south on their left and turned sharply to head back southward on their right, leaving them on a kind of peninsula. There was a good-sized clearing here, too, rocky dirt and patchy grass sloping gently down to a muddy bank. It was a good location for the coming encounter. Anyone—or anything—hoping to sneak up on them would need to come through the woods behind, or over the water ahead.

“Just so,” Mr. Meister said, nodding approvingly. He turned to Neptune. “And now it is time we laid eyes on our approaching guest. You will find our Keeper somewhere directly to the north of us. Follow the river and see what you discover.”

“Actually,” Horace said. “Don’t follow the river. Not only does the river wind, it bends way off course. Little Bo Peep might be several miles away by water, but if she really is due north, she’s probably only . . . I don’t know . . . two miles away, in a straight line?”

“Understood,” Neptune said. “I’ll go as the crow flies, then.”

“Excellent,” Mr. Meister said. “Come back as quickly as you can. Hitch a ride. And remember, Neptune—be cautious when approaching the Keeper. Despite my hunches, we still do not know what to expect.”

Neptune nodded, then looked over at Gabriel.

“Fear is the stone,” Gabriel said, as if he could see her. “May yours be light.”

Neptune smiled. “It always is.” She pushed off easily from the ground and drifted into the branches of the tree overhead. High above she caught a limb, planted her feet against the trunk, and launched herself over the river and out of sight.

Mr. Meister turned to Horace. “You know the river. What is the earliest the lost Keeper could possibly arrive?”

“If she really is where we think she is, and if she stays on the river . . . definitely over an hour. Probably closer to two hours.”

“My hope, of course, is that you will be able to witness the lost Keeper’s arrival through the Fel’Daera. Can you adjust the breach to ensure you do not miss it?”

“I can try,” said Horace. “A bit over an hour should do it.”

“Excellent. Please proceed, Keeper.”

Everyone watched as Horace pulled the Fel’Daera from its pouch. Feeling a bit of stage fright suddenly, Horace focused on the task at hand. It was now 10:20, and he was reasonably sure Bo Peep couldn’t arrive any sooner than 11:40, an hour and twenty minutes from now. He would try to set the breach at a bit over an hour, just to be safe, even though he suspected Bo Peep wouldn’t show up until closer to midnight.

Ignoring his audience—particularly Mr. Meister and his great left eye—Horace took hold of the silver sun with his thoughts. He found the valve and squeezed it closed slowly, turning down the flow. The gleaming silver rays began to go dark one by one as the breach shrank. Cautiously he kept clamping down. Once the breach sank below the hour and a half mark, he tried to pin the valve in place, stabilizing the flow. Nothing happened. The breach threatened to reopen again. He remained calm and tried again, pressing much harder. At last the breach settled.

Horace examined the single silver ray that still glowed. “An hour,” he said. “Almost exactly.” That would work fine. He’d just have to keep checking the box during the next forty minutes or so, especially as it got closer to eleven. He squinted at the ray again, another new kind of time sense suddenly shimmering to life inside him. He could tell exactly how full the silver sun was, the same way he always knew the time. “Actually, to be exact, fifty-nine minutes,” he said.

“Excellent,” said Mr. Meister. “Very well done. And now?”

Right. The job was only half finished. Quickly Horace oriented himself mentally to the moment, to this uncertain game of tracking and baiting and waiting, to everyone’s roles so far, and also—as best he could—to the Keeper who was out there somewhere following the call of the daktan. It was 10:21. He was positive Little Bo Peep could not possibly arrive within the next fifty-nine minutes . . . but being absolutely positive was a bad idea when using the Fel’Daera.

He twisted the lid open easily. He blinked at what he saw. Through the Fel’Daera’s blue glass, the river itself looked astonishing—a ribbon of shivering static, both grainy and textureless at once, a fine and crackling misty road. Horace just watched it for a while. He’d never seen anything like this before—but then, he’d never looked at flowing water through the box before. He reasoned that the static was due to the chaotic turbulence of the water’s surface. On the one hand, you had millions of tiny ripples, all connected, whose precise futures were probably impossible to predict. But on the other hand you had the river itself, the whole body of it steady and reliable and constant. Add to that the knife-sharp clarity of the narrow breach, and Horace could hardly—

“See anything?” said Mr. Meister patiently.

“Oh. Sorry.” Horace tore his attention away from the spectacle and scanned the bank. There, he saw—Chloe and himself, sitting side by side; Gabriel standing a ways off with Mr. Meister and Mrs. Hapsteade. They were clearly waiting. Horace spun in a full circle and didn’t see Neptune, but that was to be expected. She was probably high above, keeping watch.

Horace briefly considered trying to widen the breach a little, to push the dial of the silver sun forward in time, but he wasn’t confident he could maintain control. Opening the breach was still difficult for him, and the last thing he wanted was to slip forward to a full day. No, he’d leave it at fifty-nine minutes and keep checking.

“We’re here. We’re waiting. Everything looks fine.” He closed the box. “My guess is she’ll be here around midnight, give or take ten minutes. Once it gets closer to eleven, that’s when I’ll really have to keep watch.”

“Just so,” said Mr. Meister. “We wait.”

“So the plan is to wait?” Chloe asked skeptically.

“When one has the Fel’Daera, one does not make plans,” Mr. Meister said.

“Okay, but . . . does one at least decide what one will do if this whole thing turns out to be a trap?”

Mr. Meister sighed. “If it is a trap, Horace will see it long before the trap is sprung. Have faith in your friends, Chloe. Time is on our side.” He turned and wandered off with Mrs. Hapsteade, the two of them talking quietly and disappearing among the trees.

Gabriel stood where he was, as if he might stay there forever. Chloe took a seat on a large rock, and Horace joined her.

“Sorry,” Chloe mumbled, glancing down at the Fel’Daera. “You know I’m not doubting you, it’s just that this daktan sucks. It’s like a fistful of miserable. I want this to be over with.”

“It’s okay,” Horace said, and left it at that. He was getting used to plans being dependent on his powers, but he preferred not to dwell on it. In the silence, night noises rose around them—pulsing frogs and crickets, the whisper of leaves, the murmur of the river. Only the distant hum of traffic reminded them they were still in the city.

“Anybody got marshmallows?” Chloe said after a while. “We need to start bringing food to our stakeouts.”

“So now it’s a stakeout?” Horace asked.

“Stakeout . . . trap . . . welcome home party. Helpless human . . . hordes of Riven . . . who knows? I’m just worried that Bo Peep will turn out to be a human who’s playing for the wrong team. Remember Ingrid?”

Gabriel shifted uncomfortably but said nothing.

“Ingrid helped us escape from the nest,” Horace reminded her.

“Ingrid helped Gabriel escape from the nest,” Chloe said.

“Same difference.”

Gabriel stirred again, and now he did speak. “No. Chloe is right. It’s true that Ingrid freed me from the golem that night in the nest, but her actions were . . . personal. After she released me, she begged me never to go back to the Wardens.” He drew a line in the dirt with the tip of his staff, then scribbled it out. “She has chosen her side, and it isn’t ours.”

This was the most Gabriel had said about what had happened after he’d been captured in the nest. “But . . . why?” Horace asked. “Why would she choose that side? Why would anybody, for that matter?”

Gabriel looked straight at him with those ghostly eyes. “Why does a blade of grass bend one way and not the other?”

“Whoa,” Chloe said, waving her hands and frowning. “Let’s keep our floaties on, Dr. Deep End. The point is, being human does not guarantee that Bo Peep is on our side. But what will we do if she’s not? Do we destroy the daktan?”

“I don’t know,” Horace said, instinctively recoiling against the idea. “I guess that’s why Mr. Meister gave you the daktan in the first place. Only you can keep it safe without destroying it.”

“You could do even better. You could send it traveling again. It’d really be safe then.”

Horace hadn’t thought of that. “For a while, yeah—”

“No,” said Gabriel. “Mr. Meister gave the daktan to Chloe not just because she can keep it safe, but because she can truly destroy it if need be.” Horace and Chloe stared at him for so long he seemed to feel it. He shrugged. “I know how Mr. Meister’s mind works. He’s prepared to find a permanent solution if he has to. The Fel’Daera is not a permanent solution.”

“He’s right,” Horace said. “Remember the malkund?”

He watched Chloe realize it was true. In order to get the malkund—a cruel, traitorous gift of the Riven—away from Chloe’s father, they’d first sent it through the Fel’Daera. But sending it through the box had only delayed their problem, not solved it. And when the malkund returned, Chloe had utterly destroyed it by embedding it in solid steel, a trick she’d learned with the dragonfly. Melding, she called it. Afterward, she’d admitted that she should’ve melded the malkund in the first place. Chloe opened her hand now, revealing the little flower, black and fragile and hideously sad.

“I’m not positive I could bring myself to do it,” she said. “I don’t think I could destroy part of a Tan’ji.”

Gabriel seemed as surprised by this as Horace was. “You destroyed the crucible,” he pointed out.

Chloe hugged herself, hiding the long dark scars on her forearm. “That was different. That was in self-defense. To save my dad.”

“But if Little Bo Peep is allied with the Riven, why would you hesitate?” Gabriel asked.

She swung on him, scowling. “Have you ever destroyed a Tan’ji?”

Gabriel was silent for several long seconds. “Yes,” he said. “But I have learned to accept certain truths that you—”

He cut himself off, turning to look back through the trees. A second later, Horace heard cautious footsteps approaching. He saw the glint of Mr. Meister’s oraculum in the gloom. Mrs. Hapsteade walked beside him like a shadow of a shadow, her jithandra tucked away.

“Pardon our interruption,” the old man said. “I’m assuming we have no news?”

It had barely been five minutes since the last check, but Horace oriented himself and looked anyway. Nothing but the gleaming river, himself and Chloe side by side, and Gabriel standing watch. “Still waiting,” he said, snapping the box closed. “But that’s what I expected. It’s too early for Bo Peep. We’ve got at least another fifteen minutes before I’ll see anything.”

“I trust your judgment,” Mr. Meister replied. The old man walked over to a nearby tree and slowly sank to the ground at its foot, folding his legs neatly beneath him. He let loose a deep sigh of satisfaction. Mrs. Hapsteade stood rigidly nearby, not even bothering to find a tree to lean on.

“I grew up in the woods, you know,” Mr. Meister said, peering up into the leaves overhead.

Horace had no words to respond to that. The idea of Mr. Meister being a child was all but unfathomable.

Chloe, however, clearly felt no such reluctance. “To be fair, it was all woods back then, wasn’t it?” she said.

Mr. Meister chuckled warmly. “You are funny. And you are at your funniest when you are under duress, it seems.” He gave her a kind look. “Would you like me to hold the daktan? I could take some of this burden for a few moments.”

“No, let me take it,” Gabriel said.

“I could hold it for a while too,” Horace chimed in.

Chloe glanced around at them. “So chivalry isn’t dead after all. It’s just really slow.” Then she shook her head. “No, I’m fine. But it might help me if I knew some things.”

“Such as?” Mr. Meister asked.

Chloe looked him in the eye. “All those daktan you have back in the Warren—have any of them ever come to life like this before?”

The question seemed to make Mr. Meister uncomfortable. He picked at his slacks and flicked an invisible mote of something away. At last he said, “Once.”

“And what did you do?”

Another pause, and then: “We destroyed the daktan in question, before its Keeper could find it.”

Horace hid his surprise—so a daktan had been destroyed before. And as far as he knew, there was only one reason to commit such a troubling act. “Was the Keeper a Riven?” he asked. “Or with the Riven?”

The old man shrugged sadly. “I do not know.”

“But . . . if you didn’t even know who the Keeper was, why did you destroy the daktan?”

Mr. Meister leaned his head back against the tree and sighed. “This was long ago. At the time, it was not my decision to make. But I was told—and briefly believed—that it was an act of mercy.” He looked at them and lowered his voice. “You’ve seen Tunraden, Brian’s Tan’ji. You’ve seen what Brian can do.”

“Yes,” Horace and Chloe said together.

“Should the opportunity arise, I have hope that Brian can reattach the daktan Chloe carries tonight. But when the first daktan came to life—this was long before Brian was even born, you understand—no such hope existed. Tunraden had no Keeper, and most of us doubted she would ever find another. And as long as Tunraden remained without a Keeper . . .”

“You had no way to reconnect the daktan,” Horace finished.

“Just so. We could not have repaired the broken instrument, even if its Keeper had been an ally. He or she would have remained incomplete forever, always feeling the burn of that missing piece, always crippled by that wound.” He shrugged sadly. “And so the decision was made to destroy the daktan.”

Horace felt Chloe recoil slightly beside him. He leaned back, looking up and spotting an open patch between the trees where a few unidentifiable stars shone. How must that Keeper of long ago have felt, searching for their lost daktan, only to have it destroyed before it could be found? What pain must that have caused?

Again he thought guiltily of Bo Peep, and his own rash decision to send the flower daktan traveling. Surely she must have assumed the missing piece was destroyed. Surely it must have hurt. Horace tried to imagine the sensation: a piece of the Fel’Daera—the silver sun, perhaps—stripped from the box and shattered, crushed, melted, obliterated. He shuddered and blushed with private shame. He tried to imagine whether Mr. Meister had felt that same shame so many years ago.

“I have another question,” Chloe said.

“As you wish,” Mr. Meister said, sounding melancholy.

“How many daktan are there altogether, back at the Warren?”

“Nearly two hundred.”

“Two hundred! But in a very long period of time—” She interrupted herself and glanced at Mr. Meister. “No offense. You’re super old, right?”

“Outrageously old,” Mrs. Hapsteade said. Mr. Meister smiled and nodded in agreement.

“Right,” said Chloe. “So in a very, very long period of time, only two out of two hundred daktan have come to life. Only two of the instruments those daktan came from ever found a Keeper. Why?”

“Partly because broken instruments are less likely to draw potential Keepers near. But even then, the Find is more difficult with a broken instrument—often impossible.” He sighed and stroked his chin. “Many Keepers remain trapped in the early days of the Find. They never discover their abilities. They never become Tan’ji.”

Silence fell over the clearing. Horace knew they were all remembering the early days of their own Finds, the frustrations and agonies of not yet knowing what had to be known. He could scarcely imagine being trapped in that state forever.

Suddenly, startlingly, Mrs. Hapsteade began to sing. Her low voice was surprisingly sweet. The words were “Little Bo Peep,” but with extra verses Horace had never heard before, and set to a tune both lilting and sad at once, eerie and light, a tune that trickled out into the woods and sent goose bumps thrilling up and down Horace’s arms:

“Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep,

And doesn’t know where to find them.

Leave them alone, and they’ll come home,

Wagging their tails behind them.

Little Bo Peep fell fast asleep,

And dreamed she heard them bleating.

But when she awoke, she found it a joke

For they were still all fleeting.

Then up she took her little crook,

Determined for to find them.

She found them indeed, but it made her heart bleed,

For they’d left all their tails behind them.

It happened one day, as Bo Peep did stray

Unto a meadow hard by—

There she espied their tails side by side,

All hung on a tree to dry.

She heaved a sigh and wiped her eye,

And over the hillocks went rambling;

And tried what she could, as a shepherdess should,

To tack again each to its lambkin.”

Mrs. Hapsteade fell silent. No one else spoke. Not even Chloe had anything to say. At last, after a full minute, Mrs. Hapsteade sighed and said, “There are miseries in what we do.”

Mr. Meister hummed thoughtfully in agreement. “Yes, but there are triumphs, too. I have hope that tonight will bring us no new regrets.”

Horace knew these words were meant to be inspiring, but once they were out an even deeper silence seemed to settle over the little group. They sat and watched the river slide by, each Warden lost in private thoughts. Horace checked the Fel’Daera every few minutes, but very little changed. It was now getting closer to eleven, and his best guess placed Little Bo Peep’s arrival sometime around midnight. With the breach at fifty-nine minutes, he ought to be seeing something soon. But what would he see?

At ten minutes to eleven, Mr. Meister stirred and lifted his head to the sky. A moment later Neptune swept heavily into their midst, sailing in from over the river and coming to a running halt. Her eyes were like moons as she gazed around at the group.

“Not to be a drag,” she said, “but we have a problem.”