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during the previous leg of their journey; traitorous eyes skimmed the sky as she wondered if he’d left without saying farewell. “Nate, where did you park the caravan?”
    “Th’ Performers’ Alcove next t’ th’ amphitheater.”
    Bertie had seen it in passing, just inside the Caravanserai’s inner wall, the one separating the giant stone structure from the shoreline and a brisk walk of at least thirty minutes. Glancing down at her bare feet, she scowled mightily, then set off, carefully watching for broken glass and anything else that might injure or maim.
    “D’ye want me t’ carry ye?”
    “I’ll be fine.”
    “What happened t’ yer shoes?”
    “Ruined by salt water. We were right.… Sedna is already coalescing.”
    The fairies squeaked and clutched one another. Nate sucked in a breath as though she’d punched him.
    “Did ye see her?”
    “Only the water, but I heard several whispered threats.”
    “All th’ more reason t’ clear out o’ here.” He snagged the shoulder of a passing rickshaw driver, nearly unseating the poor fellow. With an efficient toss, he put Bertie inside and clambered in after her, giving directions as she leaned out and issued orders of her own.
    “Waschbär, find Aleksandr, please? Tell him what’s happened and that we leave within the hour.”
    “It will be done with all due haste, I assure you! There’s a wish-come-true to win!” The sneak-thief ducked into the crowd and was out of sight in seconds.
    Bertie turned to her fairy companions. “Peaseblossom, you need to go back to the bathhouse and collect my things. Take a coin from the Mistress of Revels’s belt and buy provisions. The responsibility for the next week’s meals in is your hands, and that means food groups other than sugar, sugar, and yet more sugar. Is that understood?”
    “Aye, Captain!” As they departed, Peaseblossom and the boys started making plans to gather the necessary supplies, which included chocolate-dipped caramel marshmallow pillows, which might or might not be slept upon.
    The rickshaw lurched forward as Nate posed a question that was a different sort of sticky. “Where’s Ariel?”
    “When last I saw him, he was trying to decide whether or not to remain with the troupe.” Their cramped conveyance swung around a sudden corner, throwing Bertie against her companion’s broad chest.
    “Oh, aye?” Only two words, softly spoken into her hair, but Nate’s expression said far more.
    Struggling to right herself, Bertie tried to sound authoritative, dignified, anything other than equal parts fearful and harassed. “I wouldn’t have anyone remain who doesn’t wish to be here.”
    In answer to her unspoken question, he nodded. “When we get to the Performers’ Alcove, I’ll see t’ th’ packing an’ th’ caravan. We’ll be able t’ depart wi’in th’ hour.”
    “That’s good to hear.”
    They spent the rest of their mercifully brief trip in silence, each keeping their own counsel as wooden wheels clattered over the cobblestones. The driver braked to a sudden but welcome stop between two massive stone columns, and Nate removed his shoes to extract the copper pennies long ago placed in each of the toes for luck. Just beyond the archway, the caravan sat bathed in soft amber light that slanted over the cart, the horses …
    And the Scrimshander. Standing stiff and silent, he resembled a creature out of the Innamorati’s new play, the black glint of his gaze and the sharp angles of his arms and legs more bird than human tonight. His thickly muscled chest heaved under a thin cotton shirt; the awkward way it draped his shoulders and the shortness of the sleeves indicated he most likely pulled it off an untended laundry line.
    Hope surged through Bertie’s chest as though the gold chain of blood and bone yet connected them, tugging her toward him.
    He changed his mind.
    After a single step she halted.
    Or he’s come to say a final good-bye.
    She didn’t want to hear those