okay.”
When he looked again, Leroux was dressed as an Eldrin Knight. “Merceron,” he said.
Moth felt lost in the mists. “I don’t want to talk about this. I want to go home, Leroux. With you.”
He sat up, breathing hard, relieved the dream was over. But he wasn’t at home or in the mists or on a train. He was in the darkness of the hangar. Fiona remained asleep beside him. At first he thought the dream had woken him, but then he heard an interminable scratching on the metal roof, like an animal trying to claw its way inside. Moth sat very still, listening for voices that never came. He heard the wind, smelled the must of the hangar. The scratching continued.
Long hours had passed since he’d last been outside. In the cover of night he was sure he wouldn’t be seen. The nub of a candle still burned on the ledge. As he reached for it, Fiona stirred.
“Moth?” Her voice was soft, half asleep. She blinked uncertainly. “What’s wrong?”
“Probably nothing,” Moth said gently. “I heard something, that’s all.”
The scratching came again. Fiona sat up and looked at the roof. “That?”
Moth started backing down the ladder. “I’ll check it out. Go back to sleep.”
“How can I?” Fiona scrambled out of her blanket. “I’m coming too.”
Moth didn’t argue. Together they climbed down the ladder, then tiptoed across the hard floor of the hangar, Moth leading the way toward the west side doors.
“Hold this,” he said, handing the candle to Fiona.
Encrusted with rust, the doors rattled as he jerked them apart.
“Shh!” hushed Fiona. “Not so loud.”
“It’s not me,” Moth argued. “They’re old.”
He slid the doors apart as quietly as he could, just wide enough for them to squeeze through. Cool mountain air struck their faces, blowing out Fiona’s candle. A full moon gazed down brightly on the city.
Moth realized quickly that the noise had stopped. Fiona noticed, too.
“Maybe we scared it away,” she suggested. “Whatever it was.”
Moth stepped out to look around the building, careful to stay within the shadows. “I don’t see any—”
Something came rushing from the sky. Moth leaped back. A flutter of outstretched wings brushed against him. In the light of the moon Moth saw the bird fluttering toward him.
“Esme!”
Lady Esme landed at his feet. Astonished, Moth and Fiona both knelt to greet her.
“How’d she find you?” asked Fiona.
“She must have been watching me!” said Moth. “She probably followed me all day!”
The bird called insistently, then leaped skyward and flew off. Moth jumped up to stop her.
“No!”
She winged her way over the hangar and out of sight. Moth and Fiona dashed around the building. Frustrated, Moth gazed up at the stars, wanting to scream.
“She’s gone!”
“Moth, quiet . . .”
Moth scanned the sky, desperate to find her. Then, as quickly as she had flown off, Lady Esme reappeared. This time, something large and silvery glinted in her talons. With effort the kestrel carried the object toward them, beating her wings and setting it on the grass.
“What is it?” asked Fiona, bending down to look.
Moth knelt and picked it up. “Some kind of instrument. Like for a ship.”
It looked like a sextant, a tool seamen used to navigate the oceans. At the top of the thing was a long tube with glass lenses, like a small telescope, attached to a wheel with pinpoint markings along its side. There were all manner of levers on the thing, engraved with symbols Moth didn’t understand. Near the bottom of the device a spotless mirror shone. As Moth lifted the object to look at it more closely, the mirror reflected his curious face. Fiona leaned over him, studying the thing. She reached out and pointed at the pinpoints on the wheel.
“They look like stars,” she observed.
“They do,” Moth agreed. “Like constellations.”
He pointed the instrument skyward and peered through the scope. A crystal clear image of stars
Jo Nesbø
Nora Roberts
T. A. Barron
David Lubar
Sarah MacLean
William Patterson
John Demont
John Medina
Bryce Courtenay
Elizabeth Fensham