“You weren’t even born, Kaspar.”

“No, but I can read, Otto. And all the books agree: it took visitors from the Hereafter days, weeks, sometimes months to become acclimatized to being in the Abarat. If you tried to speed up the process, people went crazy. Their fragile imaginations couldn’t take it.”

“Well, they’re weak,” Houlihan said.

“You’re missing the point, Otto, as usual. I’m talking about the girl. This Candy Quackenbush. For her, being here is nothing. She’s doing magic as though she was born to it. Born to it, Houlihan! What does that tell you?”

“I don’t know,” Houlihan said.

“I’ll tell you what it tells me.”

“What?”

“She’s been here before.”

“Huh. Well that’s something for Carrion to puzzle out,” Houlihan said, plainly not interested in debating the subject with Wolfswinkel.

“What about me?” Kaspar said.

“What about you?”

“I found the Key. And the girl.”

“Then lost her. You let her slip away.”

“It wasn’t my fault. That was your damn mires. They could have had her. Anyway, two minutes ago you were telling me I’d be well rewarded.”

“That was before I had the Key in my hand.”

Wolfswinkel’s lip curled. “You—”

“Now, now, Kaspar. No foul language. Accept your error. She was in your charge.”

“What could I do? She turned my slave against me. He broke my staff.”

“That seems rather careless of you,” Otto said. “What was he doing with your staff in the first place?”

“I was outnumbered by them!” Wolfswinkel protested.

“By a girl and a geshrat?”

Wolfswinkel paused. Then, narrowing his eyes, he pointed his fat forefinger at the Criss-Cross Man. “I know what you’re doing, Otto,” he said.

“And what’s that?” Houlihan replied.

“You’re going to try and take all the glory for yourself and leave me with all the blame.”

“Oh, Kaspar. You are so paranoid.”

“That is what you’re going to do, isn’t it?”

“Very possibly,” said Houlihan, with a little smile. “But you can’t tell me you wouldn’t do the very same thing if you were in a similar situation.”

Wolfswinkel was defeated. He drew a deep, anguished breath. “At least tell Carrion I languish here,” he said, pitifully. “We used to be friends, Otto. Do something for me. Please.”

“I’m afraid our Lord Midnight is a practical man. He has what he needs from you. So now? You’re forgotten. It’s on to new business.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Life’s not fair, Kaspar. You know that. You had a slave for—how long?”

“Twelve years.”

“Did you treat him fairly? No, of course not. You beat him when you were in a bad mood, because it made you feel better, and when you felt better you beat him some more.”

“You think you’re clever, don’t you, Houlihan?” Wolfswinkel said, bitter tears of frustration and rage spilling into his eyes. “But let me tell you: the Hour of your undoing will come. If you don’t let me track this girl down and kill her, she’ll make such trouble for you—” He looked around at the ruins of his precious dome. “This is just the beginning, believe me.”

Houlihan went to the door.

“You like playing prophet of doom, don’t you? You always did, even back in school.”

Wolfswinkel reached out for this last, fragile hope. “Ah, school. Otto, do you remember how close we were back then?”

“Were we?” Houlihan said. Then, considering the forlorn figure before him, he managed a scrap of compassion.

“I’ll do what I can for you,” he said. “But I’m making no promises. These are unruly times. Crazy times.”

“All the better. In times like these a smart man profits.”

“And which of us is the smart one?” Houlihan said, smiling. “The one standing in his underwear covered in mud, or the man with the Key to his Master’s heaven in his pocket?

“Never mind, Kaspar,” Houlihan said, walking away from the door, leaving Wolfswinkel in the filth and chaos, unable to cross the threshold without having tarrie-cats on his throat. “All you can do is hope your chance for revenge comes around again, eh?”

“That would be something to look forward to, at least,” Wolfswinkel said.

“Then I’ll leave you with this thought, Kaspar. If I do secure your freedom—”

Kaspar turned, the light of hope rekindled in his eyes.

“Yes?” he said. “What?”

“Then you must swear now that you will serve me. Be my cook, if I so desire. My knife washer, my floor scrubber.”

“Anything! Anything! Just get me out of here!”

“Good. Then we understand each other,” Houlihan said, turning away.

“Good night to you, Otto.”

“Good night to you, Kaspar,” said the Criss-Cross Man. “And sweet dreams.”

The trio of Houlihan’s glyphs came chasing after Candy and Malingo at considerable speed, but with a little maneuvering Candy left them behind in a bank of purple-blue cloud. Though she’d never driven a vehicle of any kind (besides her bike, which didn’t really count), she found the task of piloting the glyph remarkably easy. The craft responded quickly to her will and moved with a grace that pleased her greatly.

Once she and Malingo were convinced that their pursuers were not going to put in another appearance, she slowed their frantic pace and guided the glyph down so that they were just skimming the curling waves. That way if anything unpredictable were to happen to the glyph—if, for instance, it were to decay for some reason—they would not have more than a few feet to fall.

It was time for a little mutual congratulation.

“The way you conjured this thing!” Candy said. “It was amazing. I had no idea—”

“Well, I wasn’t really sure I could do it,” Malingo said. “But I guess in a tight squeeze you find out you can do all kinds of things you didn’t know you could do. Besides, I couldn’t have done it without your help.” He grasped Candy’s hand. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Candy said. “We make a good team, you and me.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. I’d be on my way to Midnight if it weren’t for you.”

“And I’d be a slave if it weren’t for you.”

“See? A team. I think we should stick together for a while. Unless of course you’ve something else you need to do?”

Malingo laughed. “What would I have to do, that was more important than keeping you company?”

“Well… I thought, now that you’re free you’d want to go back and see your family.”

“I don’t know where they are. We were all split up when we were sold.”

“Who did the selling?”

“My father.”

“Your father sold you to Wolfswinkel?” Candy said, scarcely believing what she was hearing.

“No. My father sold me to a slave trader called Kafaree Skeller, and he sold me to Wolfswinkel.”

“How old were you?”

“Nine and three quarters,” Malingo said, with the precision of a child who’d been asked the same question. “I don’t blame my father. He had too many children. He couldn’t afford to keep all of us.”

“I don’t know how you can be so forgiving,” Candy said, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t be able to forgive my father if he did that to me. In fact, there are some things nowhere near as bad as that that I can’t forgive my father for.”

“Maybe you’ll feel differently when you get back home,” Malingo said.

“If I ever get back.”

“You will if you want to,” Malingo said. “And I’ll help you. My first responsibility is to you.”

“Malingo, you don’t have any responsibility to me.”

“But I owe you my freedom.”

“Exactly,” said Candy. “Freedom. No more being ordered around, by me or anybody else.”

Malingo nodded, as though the notion was very slowly beginning to make sense to him.

“Okay,” he said. “But what if I want to help you?”