“Yes,” she said solemnly. “I can’t tell you what it is exactly, but it involves spying and blowing up our enemies.”

“Sharp Ax!” Whiplash called to a boy, probably five or six years old, who must have given himself the adorable, if awkward, taiga name. “Let them in.”

The boy hurried to unroll a rope ladder. After tugging to make sure it was securely tied above, Sora climbed up.

“Well?” Sharp Ax asked, tapping his little foot as he scowled at Broomstick. “Are you coming up? Or are you chicken?”

Broomstick flushed. But he couldn’t resist the boy, who looked a lot like the tenderfoots in the Citadel mentoring program. Broomstick climbed up the rope ladder. Still, when he reached the top, he kept his distance from everyone.

In the meantime, the soul pearl seemed to stir in the hidden pocket in Sora’s collar, and she flinched. It was as if the pearl had been asleep but had now awakened, if that were possible. It strained against the thick cloth of the tunic, like an iron pellet attracted to a magnet. The movement was faint enough that it wasn’t visible, but it was alarming, and Sora pressed her hand against her chest in an attempt to stop it.

Why was it moving now, when it had been dormant before?

The little commander strode up to Sora and Broomstick, brandishing a switchblade. “Both of you, lift the backs of your tunics.”

“Excuse me?” Sora, surprised at the child’s brashness, momentarily forgot about the pearl.

“If you’re really a taiga,” the girl said, “the mark of the silver triplicate whorls will be there on the small of your back. If not, I’ll slice your throat from ear to ear.”

Sora didn’t know what to say. First off, there was a child threatening her with a knife, which was both amusing and alarming, because some of the most dangerous people were the ones who thought they knew how to use weapons but didn’t. And second of all, Sora couldn’t let the kids undress her just because they wanted proof of who she and Broomstick were. That was not how this power dynamic was supposed to work, even if Sora was playing along that Whiplash was in charge.

“How about this instead?” Sora pulled a throwing star off the leather strap on her chest, twirled it in her fingers a few times, then sent it flying into a nearby tree.

Whiplash screwed up her face. “Any normal person could do that.”

But Sora wasn’t dissuaded. “Do normal people walk around with cases full of explosives?” She gestured at Broomstick.

He hesitated, but eventually he opened one of his bags and slid out a slim metal box. He flipped the lid open to reveal almost a dozen small bombs nestled in individually cushioned pockets.