The night sky looked overcrowded to Patricia, as she lay in the uneven grass of the field where she’d fallen out of the airship. Too many stars, trying too hard. She lay there for an hour before the airship descended far enough to lower a ladder for her. She climbed slowly, her limbs sore and feeble. Kanot handed her a sandwich and a can of ginger ale and tried to sell her some shares in a Zumba studio. This time, Kanot was a young German with a shaved head.

After that, Patricia started figuring out how to use the things she learned at Eltisley at The Maze and how to use The Maze’s craftiness at Eltisley. A few kids had dropped out after the “random Eastern European town” assignment, so space opened up for Patricia to become an honorary member of a few cliques.

One night, she was smoking clove cigarettes with the cool “Goth” kids after curfew, inside the cavernous and never-used chimney of Eltisley’s Lesser Building. There was Diantha, the plump swanlike leader of the group, who was rumored to be the daughter of an earl or something. Next to Patricia sat Taylor, who’d gone full-on Goth with the hair-dye and eyeliner, and a leather jacket after hours. On Patricia’s other side was Sameer, who wore black starched-collar shirts that made his shy, slightly horsey face look grown-up and sophisticated. Plus Toby, a Scottish kid with wiry red hair and jug ears. And a few other kids who showed up sometimes. The red-brick chimney walls had streaks of ancient soot on them.

Patricia and Taylor rested, arms around each other, and the clove smoke fumigated Patricia’s insides. They were trading weird stories about their lives before Eltisley Maze, all the flukey experiences that made them realize they had a connection to some unidentified power. And Patricia found herself talking about what she remembered of the Parliament and Dirrpidirrpiwheepalong and the Tree, before she even knew what she was doing.

“That is bizarre,” Taylor said.

“It is quite amazing,” said Diantha, leaning forward and encompassing Patricia with her dark, enthralling eyes. “Do tell us more.”

Patricia told the whole story again, from the beginning, adding more details this time.

The next day, she wondered if she should have kept the “Tree” thing to herself. Was she going to get in trouble? She kept glancing at Carmen Edelstein during Literature class—they were reading Troilus and Criseyde—but Carmen showed no sign of knowing anything.

That night, as Patricia was getting ready for bed, Taylor knocked on her door. “Come on, we’re all at the chimney,” Taylor said with a grin. The group in the disused chimney was twice as big as before, so there was barely room for Patricia. But everybody wanted to hear about the Tree.