“This is quite an operation you got here,” said Brrr.

“The Clock of the Time Dragon, at your service. Well, not at your service,” said the dwarf. He pulled himself out of the window and scrambled down the side. “All this time we’ve been pulling history out of a hat, and we never crossed your path before?”

The thing was massive-mounted on a flatbed cart, three times as high as Brrr standing upright. From a distance, he guessed it would resemble a stupa of some sort, an ornately carved portable omphalos, but close up one could see the ticky-tack aspect.

“It’s due for a once-over-lightly,” admitted the dwarf, as if he could guess the Lion’s opinions. “Every little while we replace the fabric, do some touch-up work. But we’ve been on the road lately.”

“Can’t tell by me,” said Yackle, urging Ilianora forward with little twitchings on her sleeve. The elderly maunt reached out and stroked the folded leather wing of the dragon, whose head and forearms finished the steeple-top scare of it all.

“Don’t fondle the merchandise,” growled the dwarf.

“You are going to start it up,” said Yackle.

“I don’t take orders,” he replied.

“Do what the lady says,” growled Brrr.

“I’m not giving you an order, Mr. Boss,” Yackle told the dwarf. “It’s a prophecy. You’re going to start it up for me before you leave here. If you’re anxious to be on your way, and who isn’t, I might add, you’ll get it up to speed pretty damn zippy.”

“You may as well,” said Ilianora to the dwarf. “She might be right.”

“You’re the one don’t believe in prophecies. What’s got a hold of you, Missy Malarkey?” said the dwarf, but affectionately enough. He petted Ilianora’s hand a little.

“Come on, Mr. Boss,” said one of the boys, “armies on the way and all that. We’re getting wanderlust.”

“Oh, is that what you call it, boy genius? Well, the gear’s unstuck, so we’ll push off then.”

“Wind it up,” says Yackle. “I know more than you do, today at least, and it knows more than I do.”

The dwarf made a rude gesture he knew blind Yackle couldn’t see.

Brrr swelled his chest. “Mr. Boss, I didn’t throw out my shoulder and crash down the door so we could linger here exchanging pleasantries. I want to get out before the armies arrive, too. Now, I notice there is a well in the corner of the courtyard that is far too large for me to hide in but would accommodate you nicely, if you’re scared of soldiers.” Then he did something he’d never done before and, sweet Ozma, hoped he’d never have to do again. He opened his mouth and picked up the dwarf by the largest, densest part of his body-his considerably broad shoulders-and he began to carry him, as a mama cat would her kitten, across the courtyard.

“Oh, all right,” growled the dwarf. “Everyone’s going nasty on me.”

“We’re on edge,” said Ilianora. As if to authenticate the worry, the boom of cannon was heard in the distance.