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and find someone else for the job. And Davardi didn’t want just one damar more; he wanted fifty damars, and he thought he knew how to get it. He was a con man, after all.
    â€œI’m not trying to be hard, Vilcot, but I need fifty damars,” Davardi said. “I’ve got a job lined up in East Lumlox, and if I’m late to show up, they’ll dock me. Listen, we’ve worked together before, and you’ve seen that I can be trusted. I get the job done, and I don’t talk. Sometimes people in your position reward that kind of loyalty, and people who reward loyalty are greatly admired. Like Klingdux the superhero—when he finds a trustworthy ally, he rewards him handsomely. And everyone admires Klingdux.”
    â€œThat’s true,” Vilcot said, nodding. “You’ve proved yourself trustworthy. You know, I have been compared to Klingdux before.”
    Sure you have
, Davardi thought.
By me, when I was buttering you up on my last assignment
.
    â€œAll right,” Vilcot said. “I’ll give you fifty damars. You keep twenty.”
    Davardi nodded, suppressing a smile at how easy that had been. “What makes you think this kid is going to be desperate to sell?” he asked.
    â€œI’ve made him desperate to sell.” Vilcot smiled. “Nobody plays me. That’s the lesson here.”
    I’ll try to remember that
, Davardi thought, stifling a chuckle.
Now I just have to get the kid to hand over that freasel for nothing
.

9

    SADNESS, SADNESS, SADNESS, EVERYWHERE YOU LOOK
    T he next morning, Jaq couldn’t taste his breakfast or his mother’s cheerful, “Good morning, sweetie, sweetie, swift and speedy.” His mother often tried to cheer him up with
S
words because they tasted like feathery candy melting in your mouth, but today Jaq was too sad to notice. He didn’t hear the early birds chirping or see the colors of their tweets swirl in the air. His brain couldn’t think of anything except
I’m losing Klingdux
.
    He loaded his best friend into the wagon and fastened his collar. He didn’t feel his legs start to walk, but they did. Asthey passed the sideyard and Jaq’s small garden, he didn’t notice that his brickleberries looked small and deflated, like they were sad, too.
    He did hear the wippers, though.
    â€œThe swift monster is tied up!” one shouted. “Look, everyone, the skinny kid is defenseless.”
    Jaq would have let it go. He wasn’t going to work in the garden; he was leaving.
Just ignore them and move on
. That was his motto, most days. But this was not a day to pick on Jaq Rollop. He was already feeling as low as a person could feel.
    â€œYou’re so skinny,” another wipper said, “when you go for an X-ray, I bet they just take your picture.”
    The rest laughed.
    â€œAw, sling it,” Jaq said. “One last time, little fella. Go get those wippers.” He untied Klingdux’s leash and sent him into the garden.
    Jaq watched Klingdux work and felt his throat tighten again. He didn’t want to lose Klingdux, and not just because he could sling the sarcasm right out of those wippers. Who would walk with him to school in the morning and then wait for him outside? Who would curl up in his lap when he did his homework? Who would make working in the fields not only bearable but fun, too?
    When all the wippers had been slung, Klingdux returned to Jaq and wound his way around his ankles like a silky scarf. Jaq put his collar back on and loaded the freasel into the wagon. Wiping a tear from his eye, Jaq set off.

    It was a long road to the market. The sky was the color of 9, a deep purplish blue. It hung over him like a threat. He’d been hoping for a cooler, misty blue, like the number 37, but it wasn’t his day, in more ways than one. Klingdux sat in the back of the wagon, looking at their farm.
    Jaq walked on, the sepia tones of his world not bursting with