BAILEY SHIFTED AMONG STRIPS of newspaper packing and some very uncomfortable cooking pots; he couldn’t sleep, despite the fact that he’d gotten no rest on the rigimotive the night before, either. They’d found a crate with a loose top that made a good hiding place, but despite his exhaustion, Bailey was afraid to shut his eyes. He thought of Taleth, who he knew was frightened and somewhere in the hills, and the mysterious crate that shared the barge with them. After seeing the name RECKON, INC. stamped onto the side, Bailey had wanted to pry it open on the spot. It was Hal, as usual, who’d held him back.

“There’s a whole night’s ride to go! If we open up a crate now, what happens if someone walks in?” Hal had asked. “I’ll tell you what—they won’t have far to look before they find whoever opened it. Let’s wait until we dock in The Maze, break it open, and hopefully get off this barge before they find us.”

And so Bailey sat awake in the cramped crate while Hal slept, looking through a hole in the boards at the red letters, only a few feet away, that spelled out the answer to a mystery. The hours seemed to slide by at a slug’s pace.

Finally, the canvas cover over the barge lightened, and the sun rose outside. The barge began to slow, and Bailey crawled out of the crate toward the edge of the cargo hold. Looking out, he saw a pier ahead of them. A small city of low stone buildings stretched from the river up into a range of wide hills covered in crags and weathered trees.

“Hal,” he said, shaking him awake. “We’re here.”

“Oof,” said Hal, stirring out of sleep. “Not the most comfortable pots I’ve ever slept on.…” He shifted up into a crouch to peer out the side of the crate. “You’re sure no one’s around?”

Bailey nodded. “Now’s our chance,” he said. His heart thumped in his chest as he and Hal approached the Reckon, Inc. crate.

“We’ve got to move this bird,” Hal said, pointing up to the Clamoribus.

The two of them climbed on top of the crates neighboring the Dominae shipment. Bailey’s hands shook as he took ahold of one wing of the metal crow and Hal took the other. The bird was lighter than he’d imagined it would be, and the metal was cool under his fingers. They eased it over the side of the Reckon box and set it down atop another crate.

Just as they were about to pry open the lid of the Reckon, Inc. crate, they heard a noise from the far end of the cargo hold. Three men entered, talking and joking loudly to one another.

“Quick,” Hal said, pulling Bailey back to the crate where they’d slept. They tried to slip back inside without making a noise. Bailey pulled the top closed, praying that the men hadn’t heard them.

“So, this lot’s going straight to factory row,” said a thin-voiced sailor. “And the rest stays in the storehouse to be picked up later. Got it?”

Two other voices sounded their assent, and Bailey heard the scrapes, grunts, and footsteps. The cargo was being unloaded. He squeezed his hands into fists, hoping with his whole body that the crate he and Hal sat in was going to the same place as the crate from Reckon, Inc. The sound of heavy footsteps drew closer to the crate.

“Ants, another Reckon shipment. These give me the creeps,” said one of the laborers.

“Why? What’s in it?” asked the other.

Bailey strained to listen as the two men heaved the Reckon, Inc. crate onto a large, flat dolly.

“Haven’t a clue,” said the first man. “But it’s not about what’s in it as much as where it’s going. You haven’t heard about the factory?”

“Only that they’ve been offering jobs.”

“Don’t take one,” said the first man. “My neighbor tried for one of those jobs. Miriam. Animas Sparrow. Always had birds flying around her.”

“What about her?” asked the second man.

The two men grunted as they straightened the crate on the dolly.

“I saw her when she came back—she was only supposed to take a day job, but she came wandering back home after being gone for three days. Couldn’t tell us what had happened. Her words didn’t make any sense; she just whispered to herself.…”

“Went nutty, eh?”

Bailey held his breath. The two men had stopped to catch their own. The crate stood solidly on the dolly, towering and ominous.

“Their wings, their claws. That’s what she was whispering, over and over,” the man said. “Their wings, their claws. There weren’t a sparrow who’d go near her after that.”

Bailey heard the other man let out a low whistle.

“Ants alive. You’ve got me shuddering,” said the second man. “Don’t want to touch this thing now.”

The first man sighed.

“Think of it this way—we move the boxes down here on time, we won’t find ourselves having to look for work up the hill. So let’s get a move on.”

The men went silent, except for a few grunts as they rolled the dolly with the Reckon, Inc. crate off the barge.

Bailey breathed out heavily as they left.

“Bailey,” whispered Hal. “It must have been something to do with those machines. What do they do?”

Bailey didn’t have time to answer—footsteps echoed on the boards.

“This one’s for the storehouse, then?” said a voice.

The next thing Bailey knew, he was jostling around in the crate as the two men lifted it onto another dolly. They were wheeled out of the cargo hold, down the gangplank, and into the cold, dark interior of a shoreside warehouse. The men dropped the crate without ceremony or care, and Bailey felt a fresh bruise form on his rear end where he’d collided with one of the cast-iron cooking pots packaged in the box along with them.

The boys waited until long after they heard the door of the storehouse clank shut to make sure no one would see them emerge. Bailey lifted the top of the crate just an inch, and looked around. They were alone in the warehouse—but he didn’t see the giant metal bird anymore. It, along with the Reckon, Inc. crate, had been taken to the factory, wherever that was.

“Come on.” He gestured to Hal. The storehouse was a long, metal room. Cutouts in its rusty roof let in shafts of light, but inside was as silent and cold as a cave. Together, they crept to the door, and carefully peered out. The serpentine streets of The Maze lay before them. The shipyard was empty except for a flock of river birds, circling and cawing above the docks. A weed-patched alley led away into the city. Beyond the red roofs of The Maze, Bailey could see the crest of the hills, covered in dead, leaf-bare trees.

The boys set off into the alley. They saw barely anyone on the streets as they walked to the hills beyond the town. Bailey felt a stirring in his chest that he hadn’t felt since they’d left Fairmount—Taleth was not far away. In fact, the streets they walked through seemed so uncannily familiar, and he knew she had seen them too.

“Taleth was here,” he said to Hal. “It’s like the bond is telling me where to go.”

Hal smiled. “It’s like that sometimes,” he said. “Can you tell where she is now?”

Bailey shook his head. He wished he knew how to bring on a more intense connection—if he could only see through her eyes right then, he might know where he was headed. He’d go whichever direction he needed to save her.

From the path up the hill, they could look behind them and see The Maze spreading out over the Fluvian harbor like a rust stain. It wasn’t until they’d reached the peak of the first hill and begun their descent into a narrow valley that the vegetation grew taller and thicker. The trees were just as stark as they had been in The Maze, but Bailey was relieved that they did not have to trudge through snow. They kept to the path that led down into the valley and slept under the cover of some low-bending branches as the temperature plummeted that night.

The next day they woke to a cloud-hazy sunrise and ate a handful each of pear slices before they set off again. The path wound them into the heart of the valley and up the other side.

Hours had passed when Bailey finally felt a desperate pull from Taleth. Her fear overcame his mind, and his heart rate rose. Taleth could sense that he was near. She was confined to a cage or cell. He could feel the cool metal of the bars as she pressed her head and flanks against them. At the sound of footsteps on stone, she began to growl.

“Who are you thinking of, my pretty beast?” came a deep, threatening voice. Then Bailey snapped to, back to the valley.

“What’s the matter?” asked Hal.

“I can feel Taleth—she’s afraid. It’s almost like she knows we’re coming, but she doesn’t want us to.” He wished he could have stayed in her thoughts longer, to see who was speaking to her, and to comfort her. Did she know that he sensed her? He’d ask Tremelo someday if that was what it felt like to be life-bonded…if he and Taleth made it back to Fairmount safely, and if his teacher decided to return.

Hal steadied his glasses on his nose and pinched his lip between his teeth.

“We have to keep going,” said Bailey, sensing Hal’s hesitation. “We can’t just leave her.”

Hal nodded. “I know—I just wish I knew what we’re going to do when we find her. This could be a trap.”

“There isn’t another way,” Bailey said, and pushed past Hal to continue on the path.

As the sun set that night, the boys had reached the other side of the valley. The Dust Plains stretched out beyond the next hill, flat and spotted with patches of dried, dead grass poking up through the crusty dirt. Bailey’s chest thudded with knowledge of Taleth’s presence. Standing on the crest of the last of the Red Hills, he felt pulled to her as he looked out over the moonlit plain.

“She’s somewhere close,” he told Hal. “If we keep going, we can find her by morning.”

“We’re not going down the side of the hill in the dark.” Hal said. “We’d be safer setting up camp. We can head into the Plains at daybreak.”

“But we’re so close,” said Bailey. “And I have the claw.”

“We’re not close—not by a long shot. We’re still half a day from the Plains if we follow the path!” Hal exclaimed. “And the point is to stay safe so we don’t have to use weapons. What exactly do you propose to do? Lunge at an assassin with a single tiger claw?”

Bailey tossed his knapsack down.

“We’re going to have to be ready for a fight at some point, Hal,” he said. “Like you said, it won’t be easy.”

“But you’re so eager for a fight all the time,” said Hal. “We don’t know what’s going to happen, so that’s all the more reason not to go looking for trouble now. Seriously, you’ve almost been killed how many times in the last six months?”

Bailey clenched his fists.

“If that’s how you feel, then why bother coming with me?”

“Because you need someone to protect you—” Hal began.

“And that’s you?” scoffed Bailey.

“I mean, someone to protect you from getting yourself in trouble!” said Hal. “You’re going to wind up getting killed unless you start thinking things through!”

“I follow my instincts,” snapped Bailey. “Maybe you should try it. Who wants to be around someone who’s afraid of everything? I bet Tori doesn’t. In fact, I know she doesn’t.”

Hal was silent for a moment, and Bailey could almost feel the workings of Hal’s rational brain trying to come up with the perfect comeback.

“Do whatever you want” was all Hal said. Then he turned and walked heavily over to a tree to set up camp.

Bailey didn’t follow. He felt tired in more ways than one. He was tired of worrying and feeling watched, tired of being told what to do—be careful, stay hidden, be on guard. Of course, it had been sound advice—but he wondered how much longer he could go on like this, hiding and ducking attention, only to end up in more trouble.

Bailey began to walk down the path. He kept an eye on the stars to the northeast, trying to memorize them in case he needed to cut away from the trail to get to Taleth. Still, his mind wandered back to Hal. Bailey never would’ve made it this far—or still be alive—if not for his friend. He stopped, took a deep breath, and turned back toward his camp.

At first, he thought that the faint whispering sound he heard was the wind—but he’d soon realized that the noise was the beating of small leathery wings. The hillside was full of lively bats. Bailey reached the top of the hill, and from there, he could just make out the fluttering shapes that flew from branch to branch across the treetops. Up in a gnarled old oak in the middle was Hal, hanging upside down.

Quietly, Bailey hiked a little ways over the hill. Hal watched as he climbed up to his branch and awkwardly hooked his knees over it.

“What do you want?” asked Hal.

Hanging upside down, Bailey felt his blood run down—or rather, up—his whole body.

“Why are you hanging like this?” he asked. “Doesn’t it make your head hurt?”

“No, it helps me think,” Hal said curtly. He wouldn’t look at Bailey. Bailey sighed. They had enough to worry about already without him saying things he didn’t mean.

“I’m sorry I said that about Tori,” he confessed. “It isn’t true. Tori really cares about you.”

“Now I know you’re just trying to make me feel better,” said Hal.

“She does!” said Bailey. “In her way.”

The two boys hung there for a moment in silence, looking up at the moon.

“You did mean part of it, though,” Hal said, not unkindly. “I don’t follow my instincts. I think about every angle, calculate every possibility—and then the moment passes. I never take action. Not like you.”

“That’s not true,” said Bailey. “You’re the one who found Lyle’s secret meeting—and you always stand up to Taylor when he’s being a jerk. And besides, you’re here, aren’t you? You packed your bags, got me on a boat, and led me to the Dust Plains.…”

Hal laughed. “I guess so.”

Just then, Bailey felt a sensation different from just the rush of blood coursing upside through his body—he felt a twinge in his chest and a heightened sense of alertness.

He swung himself up and hopped into a crouching position on the tree branch.

“Someone’s here,” he said quickly. Whoever it was, was close by, dangerously close.

“Shh,” said Hal, putting a finger to his lips. “I hear them, over by that tree.”

Bailey bent down to follow where Hal pointed. A branch moved a few yards away.

Hal did as Bailey had done and swung himself up. Bailey gripped the tiger claw tucked in his belt.

The branch moved again, and a deer—a dark-eyed doe—ran out from behind the bushes.

Bailey relaxed until he realized the doe was followed by a man in shabby, dark clothing. He carried a crossbow, ready to shoot. A poacher.

A young coyote prowled behind the man, and its ears perked in Bailey and Hal’s direction. The man, distracted from his prey, turned and searched the trees where the boys were hidden. Bailey felt his entire body go numb as the poacher’s eyes met his own. The poacher, surprised, swung his crossbow around and took aim. Hal’s grip on Bailey’s arm tightened.

The valley was suddenly filled with the sound of baying and yipping—at least five doglike animals bounded out of the trees and attacked the hunter. He dropped the crossbow and yelled as the beasts bit and tore at him. Shocked, Bailey looked in the direction the doe had run. A pack of dogs huddled around the fallen deer. They weren’t like any dogs Bailey had seen in the Lowlands or at Fairmount. But he’d seen pictures of them, with their long snouts and ragged yellow-brown fur—in his History textbook, he’d seen these same dogs at the side of a False King. Jackals.

Out of the trees walked a man—older, with broad, imposing shoulders. He wore a peaked cap with a black visor, and what looked like a military coat covered in shiny buttons; a metal cane swung at his side. He surveyed the jackals, who continued attacking the hunter and the deer ravenously. Then he lifted a silver whistle to his lips. Bailey heard nothing, but the jackals rolled their heads as though in pain, and backed away from their prey like dutiful beasts.

“Bailey…” Hal gasped. “Is that…?”

“Yes,” Bailey whispered. He had assumed that this man was dead, but it was clear Bailey had been wrong. He was looking at the man who’d ordered his real parents, along with the rest of the Velyn, killed. He’d murdered King Melore, sending Tremelo and Viviana into the night. The kingdom had endured nearly thirty years of chaos because of this man.

The Jackal pulled back his coat and dropped the whistle into an inside pocket. Two attendants followed him up the hill, and lifted the wounded poacher between them.

“Get rid of him,” the Jackal said. As the attendants carried the poacher down the hill, back into the bristly foliage of the valley, the Jackal stood and sniffed the crisp night air. The moonlight shone on the buttons of his uniform as he straightened his shoulders. He caressed the top of his metal cane with his thumb, and lightly licked his lips. Bailey noticed a scar running in a menacing curve across his cheek and down to his chin.

The Jackal breathed in deeply, as though savoring the night chill.

“You can come down from that tree now, boys,” he said.