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broken.
    And the Harpy knew it.
    Open the door, she sang. Come closer .
    “Get underneath, boy!” the Architect shouted. He clapped his hands over Syrus’s ears and pulled him down off the cage.
    He crowded in beside Syrus and nodded to Truffler, who was still hiding and moaning near the back wheel.
    The Harpy threw herself against the door so hard that the carriage nearly tipped over. A rush of wings, a foul odor of carrion and feathers, and the Harpy’s talons hit the earth near Syrus’s hand.
    He snatched his fingers back, wondering if they were really all still there.
    A wild, gold-ringed eye peered at him.
    Come with me, she sang, sweeter than songbirds.
    Syrus couldn’t help noticing that she also drooled.
    “Enough!” the Architect said. “You have your freedom, Harpy. Take it while you can!”
    It wasn’t the proper form of address at all, Syrus knew. Not by a long shot. But he was so stunned that his stiff lips couldn’t make the words.
    The Harpy bowed and lifted off, her owl-wings carrying her into the night.
    The only sound now was their breathing and distant moans from injured Refiners. The other Architects had already vanished. Syrus shifted away from the warlock. The boy could just make out the edge of a bone-white mask under the man’s hood.
    “Good thing she didn’t have arms,” Syrus said, to break the silence.
    Truffler snorted.
    “Indeed,” the Architect said.
    Syrus felt the Architect’s gaze on him even if he couldn’t see it. “You were very foolish to attempt what you did. That Harpy would have polished you off as a midnight snack and thought nothing of it.”
    Syrus began to protest, but the warlock stopped him. “But you were also very brave. We Architects are remarkably fond of this combination. Perhaps you might aid us every now and then in our work?”
    Syrus didn’t know what to say. An Architect—one of the most powerful, devious, and wanted sorts in all the Empire—asking him to help them? What could he really do?
    And then he thought about what Granny had said. Maybe this was the no-attack she was talking about. He nodded. Any road, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what would happen if he refused.
    “Very good,” the Architect said. Syrus heard a slick smile in the Architect’s voice. Apparently, he’d been thinking the same thing. “We will let you know should the need arise.”
    Syrus tried to keep his jaw from dropping. Truffler covered his face with his hands and shook his head.
    “Well, then,” the Architect continued, watching the Refiners collect themselves and their broken machine. “You should be off before they take it into their heads to catch you.”
    He pressed something round and flat into Syrus’s palm.
    “Here is our token. If you have dire need of us, clasp it and whisper this spell: Et in Arcadia ego .”
    “Et in—” Syrus began.
    The Architect clapped a hand that smelled of lizard skin over Syrus’s mouth. “Not now, boy! Dire need! Dire!”
    Syrus nodded and the Architect dropped his hand. “Dire need. Yessir.”
    “Good. Now off you go. I’ll keep watch until you’re safely across the river.”
    “Thank you, sir,” Syrus said.
    But the Architect had already turned his back and was peering beyond the carriage wheels to make sure no one was creeping closer to them. He signaled that Syrus should make haste.
    Syrus scuffled out from under the carriage, shivering in the chilly night air. Truffler leaped on his back and climbed astride his head as he waded into the river.
    “ Nainai will never believe this,” he muttered, as the icy water clutched at his waist.
    Then again, he thought, she just might.

C HAPTER 5
     
    I dislike when other people work in my laboratory, particularly when that other person happens to be Charles Waddingly. The Wad’s at the other bench now, puttering about, watching me like a hawk. Somehow, he’s convinced Father I need help cataloguing Pedant Simian’s latest collection, which the good Pedant