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“Isn’t it?”

Amrita didn’t answer immediately. She thought it mattered that the reasons were different. But she was less certain that the books and their original authors would agree.

“The alternative is to surrender them to the sea,” she said. “It would be a far greater loss.”

Soraya nodded slowly. “Then it is decided.” She reached for the carafe and poured them both more wine. “We will transfer all my cargo into the atlas. I will conjure a storm just off the coast of Alexandria, large enough to read as a catastrophe from a distance. The ship will go down close enough to the harbor for there to be witnesses. But you and I will not be on it. We will take the atlas and travel north in the tender, following the coast. To the world we will look like two humble fishermen with nothing worth stealing.”

“Combined, our magic should be enough to cloak the journey,” Amrita finished.

“More than enough.” Soraya drained her glass. “I may need some help with the preparations. But I will do the distillation myself. It should be me. It will take us a week to get ready.”

For the next week, every evening before she retired, Amrita stood at the stern and scanned the horizon with Buffalo’s binoculars. The second ship had not appeared again for over two weeks. The water was dark and unbroken in every direction, the squall lines far off and silent.

It should have been a relief.

It was not.

She stood there until her eyes ached, then went below to sleep.

Q: Which common backyard animal has been documented staging elaborate fake-outs to protect its food supply from rivals?

A: The grey squirrel.

When observed burying a nut, a squirrel who suspects it is being watched will put on a performance. He will pat the earth, smooth it over, and casually walk away, leaving nothing in the hole. The nut remains in its mouth. This requires the squirrel to model a second party’s expectations and then perform against them. In other words, the squirrel is not just hiding food. It is managing its reputation. It is unclear whether this reflects heightened intelligence, vanity, or both.

—Dan Wilder, The Most Important Question: Fanciful Trivia by Dandelion Wilder

TWENTY-SIX

FOOLISH PRIDE

The Wildernest was really coming along. It was almost ready.

The patterned tiles looked even better than he’d hoped. The meandering pattern was something on which to quietly meditate, that set the space apart. He was so glad he’d taken the time to complete it. The new bar was also complete. He’d gone with a beautiful silvery ash color and installed brass footrails he’d found at the same salvage shop as the tiles. Mirror-lined shelves behind the bar opened the space up and doubled the apparent inventory of spirits arriving daily.

The great stone fireplace was the focal point. He’d completed it with a heavy, weathered beam for a mantel. The bookshelves to either side were stained to match the bar. For now they sat empty, save one book. Tempest’s annotated copy of The Most Important Question was sitting there, spine out, placed deliberately out of reach on the top shelf.

He hoped his regulars would help fill in the shelves with books to trade, over time.

There were still problems to be solved. The powerful, stadium-style track lighting attached to the ceiling beams was more suited to an operating theater or interrogation chamber than a cozy tavern. It did nothing for ambiance. And the most critical thing that The Wildernest still needed was seating. Chairs. Barstools. Tables. He didn’t want to give up on the two sofas he’d imagined in front of the fireplace. The space felt like an empty shell without any soft spot for patrons to land.

If only he’d won in Chicago, he’d have had the funds to finish on time and under budget. There weren’t any more significant events on the circuit till the Samhain one that he was supposed to host. Dan raked a hand through his tangled mane. He was almost at the finish line, and he was weary. He had some tough choices to make. The seating wasn’t going to sort itself out. He could only, and just barely, pay for one more thing. The lighting would have to wait.

“Morning.”

Dan spun around. He was surprised to see Will sauntering in through the open front door. Both because of the conventional entrance, and because he was not expecting his friend today.

Will looked only slightly better than he had at the Mudpuddle the last time Dan had seen him. Dan had been so busy, he’d lost track of time. That had been weeks ago. Will’s face was still gaunt, and his eyes lacked their characteristic sparkle.

Will looked around the room and vaulted himself up onto the bar because there was nowhere else to sit.

“The place is coming together,” he said. “I like what you’ve done with the floor tiles.”

“It’s finally shaping up. Thank you.” Dan took a moment to admire his own handiwork. “I thought I’d never finish laying the tiles. It took me the better part of a week just to get the center part laid out and cemented in place.”

Will glanced up at the bottles lined up behind the bar. He looked at Dan.

“Mind if we have a drink?”