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  “Oh, you know,” Rollan said. “We like to keep the relationship fresh.”

  “It seems pretty fresh all right,” Meilin murmured.

  With a wrinkle of his nose, Rollan replied, “I’m going to choose to be the better man here and not say anything about how fresh you and your spirit animal smell.” Meilin actually didn’t smell — Rollan suspected girls didn’t sweat — but the panda did have a distinct musky odor.

  Rather arch, she countered, “Really? That’s what you have? Smells bad?”

  “We all could use a bath,” Finn cut in. “Hopefully the welcome at Glengavin will be warm enough to afford us such luxuries.”

  It seemed as if that might be a possibility too, because when Essix returned, she looked unconcerned. Reassured, they approached the gate. Over it stretched a plaque that read: THREE UNDENIABLE TRUTHS: LOVE, DEATH, AND THE LAW OF GLENGAVIN, KNOW ALL THREE WELL.

  Rollan felt it wasn’t the most inspirational of mottos. Love was all right, he thought, but death wasn’t incredibly tempting. It was hard to say which side the Law of Glengavin came down on, but he guessed it probably wasn’t the hugging one.

  The three guards, however, were not just pleasant, but actually excited to see them. After only the briefest of explanations from Finn, the group was brought inside.

  “We are proud to welcome you to Glengavin,” one of the guards said. He had an enormous red beard and equally enormous red eyebrows. Rollan thought that they could all take cover in his facial hair in the event of an emergency. Even more impressive than his beard, however, was his leather armor. It was more intricate than any leatherwork Rollan had ever seen. Every inch was etched with tangled artwork, much like Finn’s tattoos. It seemed like the sort of thing that should be displayed on a shelf, not worn every day. Both guards also wore tartan kilts and leather sporrans — fancy pouches that hung low around their waists. Short knives rested in scabbards tied at their ankles.

  War is so pretty here, Rollan thought. He thought again of that plaque over the gate.

  “We had heard rumors of four heroes,” the hairy guard said. “But we’d heard that one of them had summoned a black wildcat.”

  “You heard wrong,” Meilin said coldly. “As you can tell, these animals are the Four Fallen.”

  Finn, in a much milder voice, said, “There is much darkness on the move too. Where there are heroes, there are always villains. We’d all be wise to be wary of opportunists.”

  “Oh, aye,” agreed the red-bearded guard, quite amiable. He reached to pet the black cat Abeke held. “This isn’t a Great Beast.”

  “No,” Abeke said. “Her name is Kunaya.”

  “You named her?” demanded Meilin, pressing her hand to her face.

  “Does she have special powers?” the guard asked.

  Meilin made a sour face. “Shedding. Clawing. Being heavy.”

  Abeke merely smiled mysteriously. She was good at that. So was Uraza. Actually, so was the little black cat Kunaya. Smiling mysteriously was a rather feline magical power.

  Rollan didn’t trust cats, but he thought they were all right. Better than weasels.

  A messenger made his way to them, a little out of breath. “Lord MacDonnell is pleased to welcome the heroes! He is throwing a banquet in your honor tonight. Would you like to see your rooms?”

  The four kids looked at each other, surprised. They couldn’t have asked for a more opposite experience from Trunswick.

  Rollan’s stomach growled. Banquet!

  The messenger mistook their silence. “They are quite nice rooms,” he promised quickly. “No comfort is wanting!”

  “Oh, no,” Finn said. “It’s just . . .”

  Rollan finished, “It’s nice to have such a warm welcome.”

  As they were led toward the main castle, Rollan glanced over his shoulder. The plaque about the three truths wasn’t visible from this side, but he hadn’t forgotten it.

  It was indeed a warm welcome. Rollan and Conor were given a room to share. Though they were from very different backgrounds, both of them were equally stunned by the size of it. And the beds! — great poster beds, with a pillar at each corner supporting a draping fabric ceiling. One for each boy. Most inns in Amaya didn’t even have two beds in a room, and when they did, it was only to cram five or six people — sometimes strangers — into the same space. And there was a private washbasin with soft cloths beside it. Fresh clothing had also been laid near the washbasin, two choices of outfits for each boy. One was a deep green surcoat and kilt that matched the guards. The other was a more standard-issue Euran surcoat and leggings.

  “No way am I wearing that kilt,” Rollan observed.

  Conor touched the tartan wool fabric. “I think it’s interesting. Why not?”

  “Too much like a uniform. You know how I feel about those. What did you think of that plaque over the gate?”

  “Er, remind me what it said again?” Conor asked sheepishly, and Rollan remembered with a pang of regret that the boy was not a talented reader.

  “Something about the Law of Glengavin. Death and hugging.”

  Conor shrugged. “Seems like an orderly place. Makes sense they’d want people to obey the law. Why, are you feeling anything about it?”

  After the dismal experience of asking Essix to check out Glengavin, Rollan had almost forgotten about her otherworldly powers of observation. It felt like a long time since they’d had a moment of connection.

  “I just don’t like rules,” Rollan answered finally. “They’re like uniforms.”

  The boys continued poking around in the room. All the furniture was very fancy, and probably expensive, but that impressed Rollan less than the pillows.

  “Probably one thousand geese were plucked to fill this thing,” he told Conor, burying his face into it. It was a cloud of indistinct perfection.

  “Two thousand,” Conor replied drowsily. Neither boy had had a decent night’s sleep since well before Trunswick. “Did you see the washbasin? You can get rid of your fresh smell.”

  He made a face as he said it so that Rollan knew he was joking about Rollan’s comment to Meilin earlier.

  “Oh, sure, I’ll get right on that.”

  But neither of them did. Instead, they let the pillows suffocate them for a few hours until a messenger woke them for the banquet. They washed and dressed before following another servant. The great hall was as richly decorated as the gardens. A woman in a brilliant dress played a skin-headed drum. A man in a matching tunic played a set of humming bagpipes. A younger teen played a carved wooden harp. The sound beat up the tapestry-covered walls.

  “Look at this place,” Conor said to Rollan.

  “Look at you,” Rollan replied. Conor had opted for the kilt. Rollan had not.

  Flushing, Conor said, “It seemed polite.”

  Polite was never really on Rollan’s list of priorities.

  “If we have to make a speedy escape and you have to do it in that skirt, that’s all on you,” Rollan whispered.

  As the bagpipes buzzed a merry jig, Meilin and Abeke entered the hall. Both looked startlingly different in the lush green surcoats that had been provided. Meilin in particular looked stunning and odd. It took Rollan a moment to realize that it was because it had been a long time since he’d seen her clean.

  The two girls joined them. Meilin’s eyes lingered on Rollan for a long moment before finding Essix. The falcon perched on an unused torch holder and ran her beak through the feathers on her leg.

  “Rollan, you look clean,” Meilin said. Her gaze still seemed to linger on him a little longer than usual, a fact that didn’t bother Rollan a bit.

  “Hey,” Conor protested.

  “Oh,” Meilin added hurriedly, “you do too. The green, uh, brings out your eyes. It’s nice to be staying somewhere civilized.”

  “More civilized than I’m used to. Any sign of Rumfuss?” Conor asked.

  Rollan said, “Yeah, any boars running around the castle?”

  “Actually,” Abe
ke pointed out, “there is a tapestry with a boar on it in the hall near our room. I think it is Rumfuss. I asked the servant who led us here, and she said he was the boar in the gardens — but nothing more.”

  “Boar in the garden?” Meilin echoed. “She wouldn’t say anything more?”

  “She said it was against the law for servants to carry on with guests.”

  “That’s a funny law,” Rollan said.

  “This place seems to have a lot of them,” Abeke agreed. “I tried to leave our door open for some air and one of the guards told me that only the lord or the lord’s family was allowed to leave their doors open. They said it was a privilege.”

  Rollan sniffed indignantly. “That seems stupid.”

  Meilin broke in. “It’s exotic. But I’m sure Zhong’s customs would seem strange to an outsider as well.”

  “That’s true,” Abeke agreed. “Nilo is quite different from Eura or Amaya, especially some of the more remote villages. At least it is pleasant here.”

  It was indeed pleasant. Conor asked, “Where’s Finn?”

  “Talking to Lord MacDonnell, I believe,” Meilin answered. “The Lord of Glengavin.”

  Rollan’s stomach growled loud enough for it to be heard over the music.

  Abeke looked sympathetic. “Have you seen the food?”

  Long tables lined the edges of the room. One sat higher than the others on a raised platform. All the chairs were fancy at that higher table, but the fanciest was a gold-painted one, like a throne. The other tables were piled with food. There were cakes soaked in sugar syrup and potatoes glazed with butter. Fruit swam in cream. Oatcakes formed teetering stacks. Sausages lay in savory pyramids. Blushing lumps of carrot and rich knobs of beef floated in tureens.

  None of the many people in the hall had touched the food yet. They all seemed to be waiting for a cue.

  Finn entered the hall with a big, jolly-looking man — Lord MacDonnell. He had a tidily trimmed dark beard and wide-spaced, amused eyes. He wore a kilt and tall wool socks. A great tartan sash draped one shoulder and was pinned at his hip with a dagger-shaped brooch.

  Everything about Lord MacDonnell seemed cheerful. A little too obviously cheerful, perhaps. As a street rat, Rollan had learned that a smile could sometimes hide wicked thoughts better than a sneer.

  He didn’t trust him.

  He didn’t know why. Probably because he didn’t trust anybody. In any case, something in Rollan whispered, Maybe not everything about him is jolly.

  As if confirming this suspicion, Essix swung down suddenly to perch on Rollan’s shoulder. Her talons clung tightly to his leather jerkin. Leaning close to him, her beak parted as she made a soft noise in his ear.

  “I know,” he hissed. “I’m watching.”

  But she made another soft noise. And this time, Rollan’s vision suddenly clicked into sharper focus. It was as if he had been observing the world in black and white before, and now it was in color. He saw how the servants’ postures became more tense now that Lord MacDonnell and Finn had entered the room. He noticed how the musicians hesitated, confirming that they were still wanted. He saw how the two children, a boy and a girl, who walked behind MacDonnell were spitting images of him — the lord’s children, surely. He noted that there was no Lady MacDonnell in evidence. He noticed the wrinkle between Lord MacDonnell’s eyebrows. He saw the dais where the lord was meant to sit with his children and wife, and he noticed that there was a raised seat for the lord of the castle’s spirit animal to rest on. And he noticed that seat was covered with dust.

  It was almost too much to notice all at once. He could see with Essix’s great eyes, but he still had to process it with Rollan’s less-than-great brain. He staggered a bit. Conor grabbed Rollan’s arm (how clearly Rollan could observe even Conor, with his worn shepherd’s hands). As Rollan swatted at him in protest, Essix flapped from his shoulder. Immediately everything became ordinary again.

  The sudden ordinariness was as overpowering as the stunning vision had been. It seemed impossible to go back to seeing things in the usual way after observing the world with Essix’s amazing power.

  If our bond was better, Rollan wondered, is that how I’d see things all the time?

  Finn, Lord MacDonnell, and the two children walked up to Rollan and the others.

  “Welcome! I am Lord MacDonnell, and this is my home!” The man had a big, jolly voice to match his big, jolly body. “Greencloaks are always welcome here. Glengavin is a home to all heroes.”

  Finn murmured a noise of polite gratitude.

  “This is my son, Culloden,” Lord MacDonnell said, gesturing to the boy behind him, “and this is my daughter, Shanna.”

  Both children bowed. Conor, Meilin, and Abeke bowed back, with Rollan quickly chiming in with a sort-of bow-like movement of his own. Finn then introduced the four kids, adding, “The four Great Beasts need no introduction, I’m sure.”

  “No, indeed! Where’s your green, lad?” Lord MacDonnell asked as Rollan glanced around, trying to spot where Essix had suddenly gone to.

  Meilin elbowed Rollan. Lord MacDonnell was talking to him.

  “Oh, that,” Rollan said. “I’m less a member of the Greencloaks and more a member of Let’s-Save-Erdas.”

  Lord MacDonnell laughed heartily. “Aren’t we all. Aren’t we all! Shall we eat?”

  He clapped his hands.

  Instantly, every sound in the hall went silent. Conversation stopped. Not a single footstep shuffled on the stone. The musicians’ hands slapped to dampen their strings.

  The quiet was eerie.

  Then Lord MacDonnell smiled hugely again and clapped once more.

  The musicians scrambled to play a more stately march as he made his way to the feast. Lord MacDonnell plucked a single grape from a platter. Every eye in the room watched as he dropped it in his mouth.

  The moment he’d eaten it, conversation buzzed back up again and everyone moved to collect food for themselves. This must be another law. How tense that silence had been. Rollan wondered what the penalty was for finding yourself on the wrong side of the Law of Glengavin.

  Rollan and Meilin hung back as Finn, Conor, and Abeke helped themselves.

  “This is weird,” Rollan said.

  “I think it’s great,” Meilin said. “Look how well-run this is. Most banquets and parties are disasters. This runs like an army. And his children are perfect.”

  “Perfect minions,” replied Rollan, watching them. The two children followed just behind Lord MacDonnell, nodding when spoken to.

  “That’s respect,” Meilin said. “I wouldn’t expect you to recognize it.”

  “Oh, don’t pull rank on me now —” started Rollan. He broke off as Lord MacDonnell headed back their way.

  “Aren’t you two going to enjoy the feast?” Lord MacDonnell boomed in a pleasant baritone. “The salmon is divine.”

  “We were just admiring it,” Meilin said smoothly. “And also how well your children obey.”

  Rollan was about to open his mouth to point out that he had not been admiring that particular aspect of the night, but Meilin pinched his elbow, out of sight of Lord MacDonnell. Rollan swallowed his words.

  “Well, my castle, my law!” Lord MacDonnell said with a laugh.

  The image of the perfect guest, Meilin asked him, “Will you tell me more about how you run this banquet?”

  She was so clever at disguising her true emotions that even Rollan couldn’t tell if her interest was manufactured or genuine. She and Lord MacDonnell went to get food together, chatting the entire way.

  With a frown, Rollan took a single sausage from the very end of the table and ate it, while simultaneously looking for Essix and surveying the banquet.

  His attention was snagged by the musicians. A singer had joined them and they were singing a song that he knew. It was a street song about the Great Beasts that all the urchins in Concorba could sing in their sleep. The verses went through all the Great Beasts in order, the tune annoyingly monotonous, unt
il by the fifteenth and final Great Beast, most listeners were ready to pummel whoever had decided to start the song in the first place.

  The musicians played so skillfully, changing up the harmonies in each verse, that Rollan didn’t even realize that he had forgotten to be bored until it was over. In fact, it stirred that same strange part in him that the first sight of Glengavin had. This place sure was getting to him.

  He told the musicians, “Usually I hate that song.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” the singer said.

  “But not this time,” Rollan finished. “You guys are great.”

  The singer smiled graciously. “Thank you.”

  The teenage harpist piped up, her voice annoyed: “But no one can hear us on the other side of the room. It’s too noisy.”

  The musicians and Rollan gazed around the great hall. The arched ceiling should have been a good soundboard for the music, but the thick tapestries on the wall swallowed all sound.

  “If you were higher,” Rollan suggested, “the sound would carry better. Above the tapestries. There?”

  He pointed to a small, disused balcony.

  “Oh, but —” started the singer in a small voice.

  “Probably not,” replied the drummer.

  “Not this time,” the harpist added.

  Rollan was about to comment on their apparent fear of heights when he realized he could see movement on the balcony. It was Essix. At first he thought she was just flapping for a takeoff. But then her wings fluttered even more violently, and he realized she was trapped somehow. It made him feel strangely fluttery himself. Anxious.

  The musicians’ gazes followed Rollan.

  “Is that Essix?” breathed the harpist.

  “Yes,” Rollan said, a little grim. “And she seems to be trapped. I need to know the way up to that balcony.”

  “Oh, but —” started the singer.

  “Probably not,” replied the drummer.

  The harpist said, “No. No, you shouldn’t go up there.”

  “I have to,” Rollan said. Their attitude toward the balcony was beginning to make him feel a little uneasy, though. “Why, is it unstable?”