“I was,” said Margaret.

“Poor Meg! I know what you’re thinking, but you shouldn’t blame yourself. Why, anyone could have made the same mistake. I wasn’t petrified out of my wits, but anybody could have—”

“Madinia!” Margaret turned a furious gaze on her sister. “You have no wits!”

“That is so unfair! Why’re you—?” Madinia glanced at Petra, then back at Margaret. “Oh.”

“What mistake?” Petra asked. “What’re you talking about?”

“Nothing,” said Madinia.

“Maybe I’ll mention this conversation, then, the next time I speak to your father.”

“Please don’t do that,” said Margaret. “I made an error, but we fixed it. No harm done.”

“We think,” said Madinia.

“You know, if you hadn’t been so excited—”

“If you hadn’t been as jumpy as a tail-stepped cat—”

“This room is my jail cell,” Petra interrupted. “Give me an answer or get out of it.”

Margaret took a deep breath. “Madinia’s magic can tear holes in space. Mine can close them.”

“Old news.”

Madinia was offended. “They are rare gifts.”

“And the odds are very, very small that a person who can create a Rift will know someone who can sew it back up,” Margaret added.

“A Rift?” Petra asked.

“Oh, that’s just one of the many words people use,” Madinia said. “They’re also called Gates—”

“Or Lacunae,” her sister supplied.

“—Loopholes—”

“—Portals—”

“—Alleys—”

“So?” said Petra.

“So,” Margaret replied, “over the centuries, people with Madinia’s magic have left Rifts all over the world. And they can be dangerous. Imagine what would happen if somebody was riding a horse across the French countryside and galloped right into the Indian Ocean. Or what if the Ottoman army was marching through the desert and then suddenly walked into London’s Smithfield?”

“They’d be crushed by our forces!” Madinia thumped her fist on the arm of the chair.

“If the Rifts are such a big problem,” Petra said, “why don’t you just travel the world and close all of them?”

“I’m not a maid,” said Margaret. “I’ve got enough work cleaning up after Madinia. Anyway, Rifts are very hard to find. It’d be like searching for one particular leaf in a forest. Even so, Dad says I must always close up a Rift Madinia makes, just in case. But . . . when we went to rescue you, Madinia and I screwed things up.”

For a moment, Madinia looked like she might protest her innocence, but then she said, “Dad pinpointed your location, Petra. I was supposed to tear a gateway to it. But I didn’t know that there was already a Rift, an ancient one, close by. Look at the weak cloth of your trousers. See that hole? Well, what would happen if you made a new hole right next to it? Rip. You’d end up with one roaringly big gap.”

“Once we stepped through”—Margaret twisted her fingers together—“and saw the Gray Men, all I could think of was getting out of Bohemia. I forgot to patch up the Rift. Or maybe I wouldn’t let myself remember because I was such a coward.”

“You were just rattled,” her sister consoled.

“Be glad you were unconscious,” Margaret whispered to Petra. “It was a terrible thing to see.”

“I saw enough,” said Petra.

“Anyway”—Madinia sat up straight—“maybe we slipped up, but we fixed the problem. We snuck out of the house a couple of days ago. We went back to the forest—your country’s shriekingly cold, Petra!—and Meg sewed up the Rift. The whole thing. Even the gap that was there before I magicked it. So, no problem.”

“Nothing you need to tell our father about, Petra,” Margaret said. “Please? Because Madinia and I came to see you for another reason.”

“Dad wants to chat with you in his library,” Madinia told Petra. “You’re so lucky! He never lets us in there.”

Petra looked at the sisters, considering. She said, “You wouldn’t have to worry about me keeping your secret if you sent me home.”

“We can’t do that,” said Margaret.

“Our dad would punish us!” Madinia protested. “We wouldn’t be allowed to leave the house for the rest of our lives, and the winter ball is just around the corner!” She frowned at Petra. “I think you’re very selfish to even suggest that we do such a thing.”

Margaret said, “We’re not going to send you back to Bohemia. We know it’s not safe for you there.”

“Yes,” Madinia chimed in. “That, too! We saved your life, remember? I think you owe us a little confidentiality.”

Petra reflected. “I’ll keep your secret,” she promised, deciding that if she had learned anything from her past encounters with Dee, it was that hidden information is a powerful weapon.

At this thought, her hand strayed to her left hip.

There was nothing there. The sword was gone.

With panic, Petra realized she had been so distracted by poison, leeches, and Astrophil’s hunger, she hadn’t noticed that her sword was missing. Had it been lost in the forest? Had Dee taken it?

“You said that Dee wants to see me,” Petra said urgently.

“Kind of immediately,” Madinia replied. “He said it’s important.”

“We’re supposed to show you the way to his library,” Margaret added.

Petra nodded. “I’ll go. But I need a minute alone.”

“I hope it’s to make yourself look a little less grotty,” Madinia said.

Margaret nudged her sister. “We’ll wait for you in the hall, Petra.”

When the door shut behind them, Petra called softly, “Astrophil?”

The spider slipped out from under the bed. His eyes glowed a deep green from the brassica oil he had gulped down an hour ago.

Petra walked over to the mirror. She told herself she wouldn’t flinch no matter what she saw. She looked in the mirror, and stood still.

There were shadows under her eyes, and a long, thin red weal stretched from her left collarbone to her jaw. The scar was an almost perfectly straight line. Almost.

At the base of her throat, the scar was interrupted by a horizontal curve of untouched, pale flesh. Something had protected her skin from the Gristleki’s burning tongue.

My necklace, she realized, and touched the white line where the leather cord had been. Losing the necklace was the least of her worries, but Petra still bit back a sob. Would she lose everything that she cared about?

Astrophil was walking up her leg. He leaped to her elbow. Look at me, Petra.

She did.

We will find a way to return to Okno, the spider said. I promise.

Petra attempted a smile, but it flickered and died. She pulled the tie from her ponytail and shook her brown hair over her shoulders, hiding the scar.

Astrophil crawled up, and perched on her right ear. I think you look lovely with your hair down, anyway.

“Hmph,” was Petra’s reply.

8

Ariel

PETRA ENTERED THE LIBRARY. The ceiling was low and the walls curved. The library stretched around her in a circle, with hundreds of boxes lining the shelves. Pale sunlight glimmered across the room, and John Dee sat in front of a window, head bowed as he leaned over his desk, drawing on heavy paper. Placed close to the desk was a small table with two chairs covered by hard leather seats. A wineglass rested on the table, filled to the brim with an amber-colored liquid.

John Dee looked up. “Sit there, Petra.” He pointed a longnailed finger at the table. “I will attend to you shortly.” He dropped the thick charcoal pencil from his hand and reached for a thinner one. He bent again over the paper. His hand moved in little tics now, as if he were adding detail.

Go on, Petra, Astrophil encouraged. I do not wish to be here any more than you do, but we will get nowhere locked up in that bedroom.

Petra slowly crossed the room and sat in one of the chairs.

For several minutes, there was no sound except the scratching of Dee’s pencil on paper. Finally, he set the pencil on the desk. “Drink the wine.”

She hesitated.

“My dear, would I bother saving your life only to drug or poison you later? You are still weak from your illness. The wine will do you good.”

Petra sipped the thick liquid. It slid down, heating her throat. It was delicious, and she was surprised to find that her wounds throbbed a little less. She drank again. The wine tasted like honey.

Dee turned away, and went to stand behind his desk. He looked out a frosted window. “Well,” he began, his breath fogging the glass as if his words had a life of their own. “What are we going to do with you?”

This seemed like a trick question to Petra.

“I have been trying to sketch your character.” He plucked the paper from his desk. “It is incomplete, to be sure, yet I judge my illustration to be a fair one. Would you like to see it?”

Petra pushed away the wine. She shook her head.

He came close and slid the drawing in front of her. What she saw made her knock over the wineglass and spring to her feet. “You thief!”

“I thought you liked thieves. One Roma boy in particular. And did you not become a thief yourself when you broke into Prince Rodolfo’s Cabinet of Wonders?”

“Give it back!”

On the paper, bleeding golden wine, was a drawing of a rapier-like sword.

“Your father,” said Dee, “is a man of extraordinary talent.”

“Don’t you dare—”

Petra, Astrophil interrupted. My English is embarrassingly rusty, so perhaps I have misunderstood something. I know grammar is not your favorite subject, but would you tell me if John Dee just used the tense I think he did? The present tense?

“ ‘Is’?” Petra whispered.

Dee nodded.

“You’re sure my father is alive?”

He nodded again.

Petra sank back into the chair. Dee sat across from her.

“Do not bother asking for more information,” he said. “I will not give it to you. Yet.”

“Then why am I here?” Petra said dully. “So that you can play with my head? Why don’t you just scry me, then, and scramble my brain for good?”

“I have no intention of doing such a thing,” he snapped. He paused, and seemed to gather his thoughts. “Petra, you are astonishing. Not only because of the talent I believe you possess, but because you are so stubbornly blind to it. If I compare you to your father’s sword, it is because you are equally rare. I command many men and women—”

“Spies.”

“—and I doubt I could name one who would be able to accomplish what you did last autumn. Though, I grant you, they would have failed with far less noise than you caused with your success. I asked you to meet me today because I wish to make a trade.”

She waited.

“I would like to satisfy my curiosity about you,” he continued, “and I need your help in obtaining answers. It will require a ritual, and it will be dangerous, but you will be safe if you promise to obey my instructions. If you are not willing to do so, you shall place both our lives in jeopardy. For your obedience, I will trade this.” He tapped the wine-soaked drawing.

“The sword already belongs to me.”

He smiled. “Finders, keepers.”

Petra looked at the sketch. The golden liquid had warped the lines of the sword. “I want my sword back in the exact condition it was in when I arrived. I’ll know if it’s been damaged.”

“Of course.”

“And it’ll be mine. I can use it whenever I want, wherever I want. You can’t take it back.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I honor my word.”

“Then can we just do this ritual thing and get it over with? What do I have to do?”

“In the future, Petra, you might try to learn the details of a bargain before you agree to it. Just friendly advice. As for the ritual, it involves summoning a spirit. I have questions to ask concerning you. I will ask them of Ariel.”

“Who’s Ariel?”

“What is Ariel,” he corrected.

“What is your problem? Can’t you answer a simple question?”

He sighed. “There are four kinds of spirits, one for each element: earth, air, fire, and water. Ariel is a spirit of the air, and air is a tangle of several noteworthy things: change, dance, song, and knowledge. Yes, knowledge. For much of what people know is heard or said. Words are breathed, and anything spoken out loud is heard by air spirits. This includes history, prophecies, and rumors. Ariel might know what we do not, or confirm what I suspect.”

He waited, but Petra didn’t ask the obvious question. She wasn’t sure she really wanted to know whatever it was that Dee suspected about her. “Can you consult any kind of spirit?”

“No. Most don’t come when you call, and if they do, they make certain you regret it. Ariel is under an obligation to me. I rescued it. If I call, it will come. Now, Petra, follow me into the center of this room.”

She let Dee lead the way, for she didn’t want to walk at his side. But she couldn’t help being curious. “How did you save Ariel?”

“Ariel angered a water spirit by dancing itself into a tempest off the coast of an Atlantic island, sucking the sea high up into the air. When Ariel tired of dancing, the water spirit imprisoned it inside a bubble of sea spray, which I burst. Stay here, Petra.” She stood in the center of the room as Dee walked to a bookshelf. He tucked one box under his arm and opened another, a deep square one. He reached inside the shelved box and brought out his fist. Glittery powder trailed from his closed fingers. He began to draw a circle around Petra with the dust.