E I G H T E E N

WHEN THEY reached the first cave at the edge of the Wough River, Beck tied the balloon carrier to a shrub outside. Prilla filled the coconut shell with river water, taking care not to get her wings wet. Tink lightened the shell with fairy dust, sprinkling the dust fondly, thinking of Terence. Then the three of them carried it into the cave.

The hawk stopped at the cave entrance. He’d been outside, under the sky, his whole life. He feared the cave walls closing in, and he blamed himself for being a coward.

Inside, Beck sensed a clutch of bats in a niche near the ceiling. “Up there,” she whispered, pointing with her chin.

The fairies flew into the niche and set down the shell. Beck reveled in the bat smell. Tink and Prilla breathed through their mouths.

Beck spoke, adopting a flowery style foreign to fairy speech. “Pardon me, esteemed bats. So sorry to disturb your rest. We should have a letter of introduction. We should have made an appointment, but we happened to be nearby, and we wanted to pay our respects. Please accept this water as proof of our good wishes.” She stepped back and gestured to Tink and Prilla that they should, too.

The matriarch bat unfurled her wings. She blinked in the light of fairy glow. “Welcome, Never fairies. Thank you for your gift.” She flew to the water and sipped it.

Beck scrutinized the matriarch. She didn’t think Rani could have become a matriarch this quickly. Still, Beck probed the matriarch’s mind, where she sensed only bat thoughts.

The matriarch returned to her berth and to her sleep.

Although he was still frightened, the golden hawk flew to Beck. He thought he might detect something the fairies would miss.

Beck said, “Bats of every rank, please accept our gift. Please honor us by drinking.”

The other bats awoke and lined up in size order.

Beck probed their minds and found nothing unbatlike. Still, she might not know. Rani might be jammed in so deep that even an animal talent couldn’t tell.

The bats drank in turn.

Tink watched each one. She knew Rani so well—the brightness of her glow in the rain, her sniffle before reaching for a leafkerchief, her embarrassed smile while her eyes were brimming with tears. Tink was convinced all that couldn’t be concealed by bat fur.

She didn’t see the slightest trace of Raniness in any of the bats. Neither did Prilla. The hawk saw no hint of fairy.

Not a single bat lingered over the water. Not one showed any particular interest in the visitors.

Prilla kept trying to think of ways to turn a bat back into a fairy. She couldn’t think of a thing, and she wondered whether it might be better to leave Rani where she was if they couldn’t help her. But maybe she’d be happier with fairies, and how would they know?

The last bat drank and returned to bed. Beck signaled that they could leave, although she hated to go. They might be leaving Rani behind forever. “Farewell, esteemed bats.”

Tears streaming, Pah rushed to Soop’s desk. On Soop’s sand slate she scratched, I hate yooo! She rubbed out yooo! and wrote you! Soop was crying, too. She raised the wand and waved it. “I wish that you will no longer know how to write.”

The sun was setting.

Beck, Tink, Prilla, and the golden hawk entered the second cave just as the bats began to wake up. The bats were too polite to refuse the fairies’ water, but their minds were on the night ahead: where to meet their teammates and how to coordinate schedules—hunt moths at eight, hunt spiders at nine forty-five, take their first break at eleven, hunt fireflies at eleven twenty-five, present their progress reports at midnight.

The fairies and the hawk found not a whiff of Rani.

Pah threw herself facedown on Soop’s bed, shoulders heaving. Soop lay next to her, weeping, too.

Half an hour passed as they cried themselves to sleep.

Night fell. Bat rush hour arrived.

Never Land’s nocturnal bats streamed out of their caves and tree hollows. They wore no suits and carried no briefcases, but they were as businesslike as Clumsy efficiency experts.

For a while, Rani was almost happy. The rhythm of flight was familiar and comforting. The cool night air was delicious.

She tried to figure out where she was and where they were going. She couldn’t identify any landmarks. Fairy Haven could be miles away or just over the next hill.

Oh, if only it were over the next hill! If only she could see the Home Tree! The Home Tree would light up her half-blind eyes.

Although she’d been inside a bat for half a day, she didn’t understand bats at all. Rani-bat’s eyes were open, and Rani could look through them, although shapes were blurry. But Rani-bat didn’t use her eyes much. She never moved them, never turned her head, just stared straight ahead.

Why didn’t she bump into things? And why was she singing?

It was the most monotonous one-note song Rani had ever heard. Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep. No variation. Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep.

Wait! It broke off and started up. B—p. Rani-bat veered around a narrow tree trunk. The song changed again. Bep-bep-bep-bep-bep. Rani-bat flew through a clump of leaves.

That’s funny, Rani thought. Although the note always felt the same in Rani-bat’s throat, it didn’t always sound the same.

Bee-ee-eep. Rani-bat flew up over a boulder.

Rani grasped what was happening. Rani-bat was finding her way by listening. She always sang the same beeping song. When it sounded different she knew something was nearby, and she knew exactly where and exactly what size.

Bat! Rani shouted. Bat, you have a talent! A talent!

Rani-bat barely heard.

Rani wished she could tell Tink or Beck. Tink, who loved to know how things worked, and Beck, who loved animals, would be captivated.

But she’d never tell them anything ever again.

B-b-b-b-b-eep!

Rani-bat put on a burst of speed. She thrust her head forward. Her teeth snapped. She chewed once and swallowed the first insect of the night, a moth.

Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Rani wanted to throw up. If she’d had her own stomach she would have. Ick! She was beside herself. How could you? she screamed. I’m in here, too. The pinprick that she was writhed and shuddered.

Rani-bat nabbed another moth.