“Mr. Boss,” said Ilianora.

“Hey, look at the see-through pussy,” said one of the boys. “She having the genuine hissy fit?”

“Hair ball, more likely,” said another.

“Glass hair ball? Ouch.”

Brrr thought: It’s as if Shadowpuppet is as alarmed by the loss of the writ as I am. Attuned to my jitters. Some sweet, small consolation.

In protection of Shadowpuppet, if no one else, the Lion made another half-dozen lunges at the door. Eventually the wood split along the grain, and the iron doorknob and lock hung at a drunken angle. It appeared that Sister Apothecaire had left the key in the keyhole. They had some job reorienting the lock to line up, but eventually they managed, and opened the remains of the door.

“Are you coming?” said the dwarf.

“She’s not in a condition to be moved,” said Ilianora. “You go, get things in order. We’ll follow as soon as we can.”

They pelted away. Their footsteps retreating down the stone stairs made an isolating sound. The mauntery echoed like a mausoleum.

Still Yackle twitched, like a blind fish unable to see the string coming out of its mouth or the fisherman overhead, but responsive to every tug. Ilianora kept one hand on Yackle’s shoulder or at her wrist.

“You have a talent for comforting the sick?” said Brrr.

“None,” she replied. “Why don’t you go with them? Nothing is holding you here.”

He had no answer so he offered none. “What’s your answer to that same question?” he said.

“By long habit,” she replied, “I don’t answer questions.”

“Could we get her on my back?” said Brrr. “Maybe I could carry her down the stairs?”

“She’s too brittle, and she’s still being bothered by a spell of something.”

“Maybe she’ll wake up and find herself an infant this time,” said Brrr, almost to himself. “With a cowardly Lion and a whatever-you-are for parents. What are you?”

“I’m the handmaiden of the Clock, I suppose,” said Ilianora.

“That tells me less than I want to know.”

“Are you taking notes?”

“No,” he said, “and that’s a promise.”

She drew her knees up to her chin. She looked like a small Ice Monkey, almost, in her white veil. With Yackle in her white, too, they might be Granny Ice Monkey with Granddaughter. Two weird characters in their matching shrouds.

“Are you Mr. Boss’s daughter, or are you married to him?” asked Brrr. “I can’t see why anyone would commit herself to a clockwork oracle, unless it was the family business.”

“I am not married, and will not be so,” said Ilianora. “I’m no longer fit for bearing children.”

“You have white hair, but you aren’t that old…”

“I had myself closed,” she said, “after having heard enough of human iniquity to despair of the species. Closed. So I tread the world lightly, lightly as possible, and I bring no infants forward to suffer as I have done. I worked with the underground vigilantes who struggle against the tyrant on the throne of the Emerald City-our Emperor Apostle-until I learned that in the service of their honorable goal they are capable of actions as dishonorable as the Emperor’s-then I gave myself up for lost. I wandered without aim or ambition, a sad folly of a way to spend one’s life.”