Batch just shook his head and whispered, “Beast of night with flesh of smoke, wearing darkness like a cloak . . .”

“Jacksmoke,” she snapped. “Poetry. That’s about as helpful as nursery tales. At least tell me what he sent you to the Magruwen for. I know you went for treasure. What did your master want?”

A glint of malice lit Batch’s pathetic, slobber-slicked face. “Nasty cheat,” he muttered. “Cheating nasty meat . . . A turnip!”

“A turnip,” Magpie repeated flatly.

“A measly scorched nasty turnip! Waste of a treasure!” His eyes squeezed shut and his little fists clenched and unclenched, and he was such a picture of misery that Magpie found she believed him.

To Calypso she muttered, “What would a devil want with a turnip?”

Calypso shrugged. “Why would the Magruwen have a turnip?”

“Flummox me! Look, feather, let’s take the imp with us. I’m not through with him yet, sure he knows more than he’s saying, but if we don’t fly it’ll be dark before we can reach Issrin—”

“Neh, not Issrin!” cried the imp with such terror that Magpie knew Issrin was indeed the place. “Not there! Don’t take me there!”

“Why? Is he still there?” she demanded.

“Until the dark comes and frees him from the shadows . . . But the night is like a sea to him, to swim where he will.”

“Then we’d better hurry—” Magpie suddenly tensed, listening. Calypso knew the look, so he wasn’t surprised—but Poppy was—when Magpie suddenly whirled around and flicked herself fast toward the bushes. They heard a cry of “Miminy!” in a gent’s voice, and a tussle, and then a figure tumbled from the underbrush with Magpie leaping out nimbly behind. “Spy!” she growled.

“Poppy!” gasped the gent, and they all saw who it was.

“Kex!” Poppy cried. “What were you doing there?”

Kex Winterkill got to his feet, glared at them all, and brushed moss off his satin breeches, grimacing to see stains. “Ahem—” he said. “M’lady calls for you, cousin.”

Poppy let out a hiss of exasperation. “Tell her I’m busy!”

“Indeed?” he said, eyeing Batch with undisguised contempt and flicking unloving looks at Magpie and Calypso too. “Do you imagine she’ll be pleased to learn you prefer the company of low creatures to her royal self?”

“I don’t care what pleases her! Tell her I’ve no more potions for her!”

“Ach,” said Magpie. “Is her hair still—?”

“Aye.” Poppy nodded. “That spell’s pulled tight. I’ve done all I know how. Kex, it’s beyond me! Call for Orchidspike!”

Kex stiffened. “You well know Orchidspike refuses to attend my lady.”

“Aye, I know. And now, so do I.”

Kex reddened. “Think hard on your choice of friends, Poppy. After all, these . . . actors . . . are surely soon to grace Dreamdark with the priceless gift of their departure, and then you may find yourself quite . . . unwelcome . . . in polite society.”