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hence.”
    “Why would she do that,” Bertie wanted to know, “if she wants us there so very badly?”
    “Deadlines are a tradition,” the Messenger deigned to answer. “‘The first morning after marriage’ and midnight carriages turned back into pumpkins. The Queen has chosen tea-time for hers. Performers arriving late will be denied both the pleasure of her patronage and the chance to win a boon to be bestowed upon the artist or troupe with the most pleasing performance.”
    Waschbär stiffened as though a cupid dart had struck him in the posterior. “What sort of boon?”
    “The sort that has not been granted for countless years.” The Messenger gave the sneak-thief a knowing sort of look.
    “I don’t really fancy myself a duchess,” Bertie started to say, but the laugh that had been building in the back of her throat turned to sand the moment Waschbär flashed her a fierce smile.
    “He is not speaking of a paper title, make no mistake.… He means a wish-come-true.” When Bertie started to make a disbelieving noise, he gave her arm a subtle shake. “Think upon the possibilities of such a gift.”
    “A wish-come-true?” Realization scrambled up Bertie’s spine and hit her in the back of the head with a big, rubber mallet. “And if she chooses our performance, the wishing of it would be ours?”
    “To do with what you will.” Waschbär’s words tripped over themselves in their haste to exit his mouth. “With a mere thought, you could summon all the gold and jewels in the realm, a castle of your own—”
    My family reunited. The happily ever after I can’t manage to write.
    Bertie dared not utter the longing aloud; it was like a birthday-candle wish that, once vocalized, might never come true.
    Cobweb spared her from saying anything by crowing, “So it’s like winning a wish from a genie in a bottle!”
    “No one better expect me to rub an old lamp,” Mustardseed muttered. “Mr. Hastings tricked me into polishing most of the brass in the Properties Department once, using that line.”
    “You’re missing the point!” Moth cavorted in the air nearest Bertie’s left ear. “We could make it rain cupcakes from the sky! Raspberry-jam pies would grow on trees, and chocolate rabbits would poop chocolate buttons!”
    “Bertie can do all that without using a wish-come-true,” Peaseblossom said. “Never mind we don’t need you chasing after rabbits for their droppings!”
    It was true; all Bertie required was a carefully written sentence or two to conjure anything she liked.
    I never thought of writing a wish-come-true.
    She pulled the silk-wrapped journal from Waschbär’s pack, but the sneak-thief wouldn’t be pickpocketed.
    “This is neither the time nor the place for such magics,” he cautioned.
    A double-edged truth: Not only would she make a spectacle of herself before the Queen’s emissary, but an ill-chosen word could inadvertently set her friends on fire— again —or create a Harrowing Journey they’d be forced to undertake.
    “I must make haste. I have delayed the Queen’s business too long.” The Messenger proffered a gold-hinged box of modest size and significant weight. Nestled inside like eggs in the velvet lining of a very odd nest sat four pairs of gold-tooled binoculars; further examination revealed another four pairs, rendered in miniature, the perfect size for the fairies. “Glasses for you and the members of your party, good Mistress of Revels. You’ll need them to find your way.”
    “Of course,” Bertie said, trying to resign herself to the unexpected journey. “Magic spectacles are commonplace on a venture such as this.”
    “We need t’ leave right away, if ye don’t want t’ break th’ horses t’ get there,” Nate said.
    A preparatory checklist clattered into place inside Bertie’s head, lengthening by the moment and a welcome diversion from renewed concern about Ariel. She couldn’t help but recall how deftly he’d handled both horses and wagon