with his robe and kept admiring and stroking the thick fabric, which was a rich, reddish brown.
“It is important,” said Hen-Hen, “that you do not look any Council member in the eye. Nor should you touch any one of them.”
“Why not?” Tully asked brazenly, but he found he could not meet Hen-Hen’s eyes himself while he asked. He looked down at the toes of his new boots instead. He had brought his precious bucket—which he glanced at nervously—but he had not thought to bring much else.
“What’s in the bucket, child?” asked Hen-Hen, ignoring Tully’s question.
“Just stuff,” said Tully. “Things I’ve saved from home.”
“Very well,” said Hen-Hen, but he continued to stare at Tully with that disconcerting look. Tully was acutely aware of each of Hindrance’s special and magical gifts now sitting in plain sight in the bucket. He thought that Hen-Hen would very much like to see the telescope, the seeing-glasses, and the wooden box—especially the box. Tully wasn’t going to share any of them, however.
One of Hen-Hen’s eyes rolled to the side and fixed on Copernicus, who was twining himself around a thin tree branch.
“Time to pay attention,” he commanded, and the snake unwound himself and collapsed in a little S shape on the ground. He stayed still and attentive.
“When you enter the flying craft, you must sit very, very still,” said Hen-Hen. “Do not jump or twist—” and here he stared hard at the snake. “And do not make loud noises,” he added, staring at his cousin Aarvord.
“Awful lot of rules,” said Aarvord. “And I don’t see any flying craft.”
Hen-Hen raised a fat paw into the air. Silently, from the North, a host of Boring Bees came streaming in. They were quickly joined by the group that covered Hen-Hen’s jowls, leaving him paler on the lower half of his face , as if the bees had prevented the sun from darkening his skin. Together the hive began whirring in a circle in the center of the courtyard. Faster and faster they went in a dizzy blur, until they appeared as a vibrating black smudge against the sky. No one said a word.
The whirring slowed and finally dropped to a low, consistent hum and there, before their eyes, was a perfect tube, enclosed at both ends like a bullet. It was as tall and wide as Hen-Hen, and Tully suddenly realized its purpose.
“We’re to ride in that?” he said.
“No, no, no, no, no,” whispered Fangor’s tiny voice in his ear. “Bad, bad, bad.”
“Sssh,” said Tully under his breath. But he was scared as well. What if the bees should suddenly decide to…fly in different directions, all at once? And then they would all fall into the pure air. The craft shivered with the tiny movement of thousands of insects, as if they were impatient to begin the journey.
“It’s perfectly safe,” said Hen-Hen, and he ducked down behind the craft. The end of the bullet-shaped craft was wide open, and Hen-Hen crawled inside. Aarvord, never one to be called a coward, followed quickly behind Hen-Hen without a backward glance. Tully and Copernicus exchanged a look, but neither one could see a way out of this plan. Copernicus slid up Tully’s leg and hung there like grim death, and Tully bent down and crawled into the tube of living, humming insects. He dragged the bucket with him. All along, Fangor’s voice in his ear kept up a panicky refrain: “No, no, no. Bad, bad, bad,” like a small Eft trying to ward off the nightmares of Shrikes.
“Distribute your weight, please,” said Hen-Hen, who directed them to sit at various points within the craft.
Inside the craft, it was dim—a shadowy darkness punctuated by small pinholes of light that were constantly shifting with the concerted vibrations of the bees. Tully could barely see his friends in the gloom, but he saw the bulk of Hen-Hen somewhere at the front of the hollow tube. He felt the comforting presence of Copernicus on his leg, tucked inside a fold of the Kepper-Root robe,
“It is important,” said Hen-Hen, “that you do not look any Council member in the eye. Nor should you touch any one of them.”
“Why not?” Tully asked brazenly, but he found he could not meet Hen-Hen’s eyes himself while he asked. He looked down at the toes of his new boots instead. He had brought his precious bucket—which he glanced at nervously—but he had not thought to bring much else.
“What’s in the bucket, child?” asked Hen-Hen, ignoring Tully’s question.
“Just stuff,” said Tully. “Things I’ve saved from home.”
“Very well,” said Hen-Hen, but he continued to stare at Tully with that disconcerting look. Tully was acutely aware of each of Hindrance’s special and magical gifts now sitting in plain sight in the bucket. He thought that Hen-Hen would very much like to see the telescope, the seeing-glasses, and the wooden box—especially the box. Tully wasn’t going to share any of them, however.
One of Hen-Hen’s eyes rolled to the side and fixed on Copernicus, who was twining himself around a thin tree branch.
“Time to pay attention,” he commanded, and the snake unwound himself and collapsed in a little S shape on the ground. He stayed still and attentive.
“When you enter the flying craft, you must sit very, very still,” said Hen-Hen. “Do not jump or twist—” and here he stared hard at the snake. “And do not make loud noises,” he added, staring at his cousin Aarvord.
“Awful lot of rules,” said Aarvord. “And I don’t see any flying craft.”
Hen-Hen raised a fat paw into the air. Silently, from the North, a host of Boring Bees came streaming in. They were quickly joined by the group that covered Hen-Hen’s jowls, leaving him paler on the lower half of his face , as if the bees had prevented the sun from darkening his skin. Together the hive began whirring in a circle in the center of the courtyard. Faster and faster they went in a dizzy blur, until they appeared as a vibrating black smudge against the sky. No one said a word.
The whirring slowed and finally dropped to a low, consistent hum and there, before their eyes, was a perfect tube, enclosed at both ends like a bullet. It was as tall and wide as Hen-Hen, and Tully suddenly realized its purpose.
“We’re to ride in that?” he said.
“No, no, no, no, no,” whispered Fangor’s tiny voice in his ear. “Bad, bad, bad.”
“Sssh,” said Tully under his breath. But he was scared as well. What if the bees should suddenly decide to…fly in different directions, all at once? And then they would all fall into the pure air. The craft shivered with the tiny movement of thousands of insects, as if they were impatient to begin the journey.
“It’s perfectly safe,” said Hen-Hen, and he ducked down behind the craft. The end of the bullet-shaped craft was wide open, and Hen-Hen crawled inside. Aarvord, never one to be called a coward, followed quickly behind Hen-Hen without a backward glance. Tully and Copernicus exchanged a look, but neither one could see a way out of this plan. Copernicus slid up Tully’s leg and hung there like grim death, and Tully bent down and crawled into the tube of living, humming insects. He dragged the bucket with him. All along, Fangor’s voice in his ear kept up a panicky refrain: “No, no, no. Bad, bad, bad,” like a small Eft trying to ward off the nightmares of Shrikes.
“Distribute your weight, please,” said Hen-Hen, who directed them to sit at various points within the craft.
Inside the craft, it was dim—a shadowy darkness punctuated by small pinholes of light that were constantly shifting with the concerted vibrations of the bees. Tully could barely see his friends in the gloom, but he saw the bulk of Hen-Hen somewhere at the front of the hollow tube. He felt the comforting presence of Copernicus on his leg, tucked inside a fold of the Kepper-Root robe,
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