“Hey!” cries Frederick.

Cackling with glee, Theo tries to make off with his notebook, filled with the transcriptions of the bamboo strips from the Imperial Library, but Frederick gets it back and puts it on the table. “You mustn’t touch these, Theo.”

“Stoy!” Theo shouts.

“I’ll tell you a story,” I offer, looking sadly at my failed attempt at scallion pancakes, burnt to the pan.

“Feyda stoy,” says Theo. “Buk!”

“I got him a book of fairy tales,” explains Frederick. “They’re in Yongwen, but I translate as I go. He likes the illustrations.”

“Feyda umma buk!” insists Theo, trying to snatch the notebook again.

“We had better be careful of that,” says Mrs. Och, watching him.

“Careful of what?” I ask.

“Theo learning language,” she says. “No matter how it is bound, The Book of Disruption is a part of him.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that his learning language might be dangerous. Oh, probably not so long as he cannot read or write. But even so, we should keep a close eye now that he is beginning to speak. Words have power, and his might have more than most.”

That is an unsettling thought. I look at Frederick, who is stacking his notebooks and papers out of Theo’s reach.

“Yes, yes,” he’s saying. “I’ll read you a story.”

“So nothing useful yet?” I ask him, gesturing at his notes.

“Nothing we don’t know already,” he says. “Although here is something interesting. Kahge might be described as an echo or reflection of the natural world, but it is not a perfect reflection. There are many reasons for this, one being that the elements in Kahge are not in balance. Because it is made of magic, fire is dominant. That might explain why what you see is like a reflection of the world on fire, or burning, or burnt. I am going to need a different dictionary to translate the pictographs on the rubbing—it is the oldest form of Yongwen I’ve seen. But there is a bookseller in the Beimu Triangle who has been very helpful. I’ll go and see him today. Yes, Theo, all right!”

Theo has found the book of fairy tales and is waving it urgently at Frederick. Then he runs outside, and Frederick follows. I don’t want to sit at the table with Mrs. Och, and so I take my burnt scallion pancakes out onto the steps, where Bianka is sitting in the thin morning sunlight, carving a toy for Theo out of a block of wood.

She is carving much too fast. She is very jumpy about Lord Skaal being in the city, and I reckon carving is not the best activity for her at the moment, but I daren’t say so. As soon as I sit down next to her, she says, “I don’t care what Mrs. Och says. He’s here for Theo.”

“I think she’s right that he’s here for the princess,” I say. “Casimir might know that we’re here, but Agoston Horthy doesn’t.”

It is early, and the clouds in the east are gold-rimmed as the sun comes up. Frederick and Theo have settled on an empty crate by the pump, and Frederick is reading to him. Theo is riveted by the brilliantly colored illustrations that fill up most of the page, pointing out this and that. I doubt he’ll be asking me for stories anymore.

“No,” says Bianka. “I remember him. He was the first to come for Theo. We need to get out of Tianshi.”

The knife in her hand is going still faster.

“Not yet,” I say. “Count Fournier has put the word out. We need to sit tight. We’ll know something about Ko Dan soon.”

“I can’t just sit in this courtyard and wait for them to appear and try to take Theo!” she cries. “Oh blast.” She has whittled the wood away to nothing, her lap full of shavings. “I said I’d make him a toy. He has nothing to play with, and he torments the chickens.”

“Mo! Mo!” cries Theo when Frederick reaches the end of the story. Frederick laughs and turns the page.

“You were wrong, you know,” I tell Bianka, pointing at them. “When you said I was the only one besides you who loved Theo.”

She looks at the two of them bent over the book together, almost cheek to cheek, Theo’s chubby little hand fondling Frederick’s beard, and her face softens.

“You’re right,” she says. “They adore each other.”

I am about to reassure her again that Lord Skaal is surely here for the princess when a tree pipit flies over the wall and nearly crashes into my face. I give a yell, trying to fend it off. It drops a piece of paper in my lap and lands on the step next to me, cocking its head at me. I unroll the paper quickly. Dek’s handwriting: We’ve found him.

The trolleys on the first tier road are always crowded in the morning, but I vanish and step onto the outer ledge, holding on to the window rail. I’ve seen people try to ride this way for free, though usually the driver spots them and shoos them off. The voices of merchants sing out from their shops and stalls along the side of the road, delicious smells waft up from the food stalls, and the peaked rooftops shimmer in the morning haze. I get off the trolley in Dongshui and buy sticky red rice wrapped in bamboo leaves so I can eat as I walk. I keep my hat down and my head low, hoping the seller doesn’t look at me too closely and recognize the foreign girl whose picture is plastered on the walls of the city with a promised reward. Then I head in among the narrow dirt streets where the ramshackle houses practically lean up against each other, old men sitting outside playing Zhengfu and smoking while scrawny chickens run loose, shedding their feathers.

When I get to Dek’s house, Mei and Ling are there again. Dek and Ling are at the table, flour-dusted to the elbows, making dumpling wrappings. Wyn and Mei are playing cards, and they both look bored out of their minds.

“These two seem to have moved in,” I say.

“Julia!” Dek grins at me. His hair is braided Tianshi-style. “You got our message?”

“I hope by all the holies you mean you’ve found Ko Dan, or Bianka’s going to have a fit and probably turn you into a toad.”

“Ling told us. He was readmitted to the monastery at dawn. Apparently, word got out and there was quite a crowd gathered outside to watch him knock on the door and request entry, so for all that we’ve been pretending we’ve got the pulse of the city, we’re obviously out of the loop. The girls went with their uncle and saw him themselves.”

“You saw him go in?” I ask Ling in Fraynish. Dek translates, looking vaguely annoyed with me.

Ling nods, wiping her hands off and fetching me a rolled-up piece of paper. I unroll it and look at the drawing of a solemn, round-faced man with a star-shaped scar under his eye.

“Who drew this?”

“Ling did,” says Wyn. “She’s not bad, is she? Good technique.”

“Can I…um…ownership?” I ask her in fumbling Yongwen.

Mei smirks a little at my bad Yongwen. Ling just shrugs, as if she doesn’t care one way or the other, but when I fold it up to slip it into my pocket, her brow creases in an expression of surprise and hurt, and I wonder if it’s some kind of insult to fold it. I’ve nowhere to put it rolled up, though.

“Where were you last night?” I ask Dek. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“We went to the theater!” he says enthusiastically. “It costs almost nothing for standing room. All the rich people pay for balcony seats above and watch through their little binoculars, but we were right in front of the stage with the rabble. I’ve never seen anything like it—it was this kind of dance with masks. Ling was explaining it to me. Every movement means something; every mask has significance. Each animal is symbolic. What did we decide? Ling is a lynx, I’m a cormorant….”

“Panda,” says Ling in Fraynish, pointing at Wyn, and I snort.

“What would I be?” I ask.

“Hmm, what do you think?” Dek asks Ling in Yongwen. He looks so happy. I can’t remember seeing him look so happy. I should be glad to see it, but it makes my heart sink—that this place and this girl should be what makes him happy. That there is no hope of freedom or love for him back home, the home I long for.

Ling studies me and then says, with the faintest smile: “Wolf.”

I raise my eyebrows at her, not sure if I ought to be offended.

“Wolf?” says Dek, taken aback.

“Wolf,” says Ling firmly.

“Are you going to the monastery now?” Wyn asks me, tired of the conversation and probably annoyed at having been declared a panda bear.

“No. Mrs. Och told me to report back to her after I’d spoken to you,” I say. “I’ve got to report to her before I take a piss, apparently.”

Dek laughs.

“Wait a bit if you’re hungry,” he says. “Ling is teaching me to make steamed dumplings.”

“I am hungry,” I say. “But Bianka’s waiting too, and probably going mad. If it’s really him, we’ll be moving on soon, I reckon.”

I look at Dek as I say this, but he shows no sign of having heard me, flattening the dough into perfect little circles.

“I’ll walk you to the trolley,” says Wyn.

“I don’t need an escort.”

“I’m not escorting you. I want to talk.”

“Oh.”

“Come back when you’re done,” says Dek. “We’ll have dumplings ready!”

I don’t know what to make of this happy, busy version of my brother. I thank Ling for the picture again, and Wyn walks me out.

“Mail goes out from Shou-shu today,” he says. “I was going to snatch one of Gangzi’s letters if you still want it. Or should I not bother now that we’ve found Ko Dan?”

“Might as well get one just in case. Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?”

“No. Well, that was one thing.” He clears his throat. “I’m just going to say it. I promise I’ll drop it if you tell me that you don’t feel anything for me anymore. But I think that you do, and I want you back, Brown Eyes. I want things to be like they used to be.”

“That isn’t going to happen,” I say quickly, before I can say anything else. “Everything’s changed. We’ve changed. Or I have, anyway.”

We pass an old couple sharing a pipe outside. They look at us curiously, and I duck my head so that the brim of my hat hides my face.

“People don’t change that much,” says Wyn. “I’ll own that I spoiled things. I was selfish and stupid. But it would be different if you’d give me another chance.”

“You just finished telling me people don’t change. Everybody knew what was happening except me. If I wasn’t enough for you then, I don’t see why I would be now.”

“Because I wouldn’t risk losing you again. But you should talk to more girls, Julia. The way you carry on, you’d think I was this roach among men for spending a night or two with Arly Winters.”

“I don’t carry on,” I say, getting angry now. “You brought it up. I’d just as soon not talk about it at all. And if you must talk about it, don’t lie to me and pretend it was only a night or two. What would your girl back at the house think about you telling me this?”

“This isn’t about Mei.”

“Of course it is! She thinks you’re her fellow, and here you are trying to sweet-talk me back into bed with you. As far as I can tell, you want every girl you look at, especially the ones you haven’t got.”

“Don’t be so bleeding naïve, Julia. All men are the same. Yes, if I see a pretty girl, I want her. Hounds, if I see an ugly girl, I want her. I wish you could understand how little it has to do with you, or with love. But that’s what I’m trying to tell you: If it matters to you, I can just…resist all that. Be yours. Really yours. Haven’t you been angry long enough?”

“I’m not angry,” I say, deflated. “But things are different now.”

“You haven’t told me you don’t feel anything for me anymore.”

“Hounds, I’ll always feel something for you. But not the same way I used to. I’m past it, all right?”

I hear myself saying it, and for the first time I almost think it might be true.

“Flaming Kahge, Julia—what do you want from a fellow?” He kicks a rock down the road, frightening a pair of chickens. “I’ll own my mistake, but if you think there’s a man out there who’s any different, you’re deluding yourself!”

I’ve heard enough.

“Fine, maybe men like you are common as dirt. That doesn’t strike me as much to brag about. But I don’t go around figuring everybody is just like me, and d’you know why not?”

He gives me an unhappy look.

“Because there is nobody like me,” I tell him, and vanish, leaving him staring at the place where I was, where I’m not anymore.