and on its back are two dozen roarbellowing people. Its face is frozen. Its red wings rumblebeatthunder. And Light makes madfuriousfrenzied plays along its length, its shields and gear and rigging and people flameglowflickerflaring.

Eynar screeches. The sealess ship flies through the next wall, leaving no sign the House and its man are lostwildwandering at home: nothing except an overturned bucket and a stinksmoke of salt.

Darling an Astrid tak a waak trou the wynds o Meginwick

The wynds is lit by cruisies set

tae Stannart Days, peedie suns

i’the girders lightan thir steps. Thay waak

the nerrow weys o Astrid’s myndeen.

Roon this cunyo, the skeul; roon this,

the bruck byres, whar Astrid’s blide

tae spy young fock is gloweran yet;

furder, the bell thay’d gang tae in pairs;

here, the Haa whar the wynds meet,

whar the Ting sets fees an lots thir quaaters,

whar benks is shuitten back fer dansan.

Darling trys tae listen, but

hid’s that peedie, an bye the waas

is the tide, the starns, an aalwarld things.

Thir haands sweeng closs, touch, twine,

pull back, touch more. An than: “Astrid?”

Thay birl, touchan yet, but Astrid

steps awey an the uncan body

says, “Hid’s nivver thee?” The body

is Gunnie, at twal year ago wis Astrid’s

inseparable freend, at ten year ago

gat nyargie, an thir no spocken ava

fae Astrid teuk the langship tae Mars.

“An wha’s this?” speirs Gunnie, smirkan.

Thay wir snatchets o bairns, but Gunnie

is wallie nou wi shairp dairk een

an Astrid’s forgotten hoo tae deu this.

Sheu swanders trou speiran at Gunnie’s faimly,

giean her news, myndan on only

tae share the things sheu’s fine wi aa

the fock aa ower the staetion hearan

in twatree oor, or mibbe less.

Darling waatches the clashan pair,

no unnerstannan enogh tae spaek,

smilan but feelan a ropp hank aff

as sheu faas backleens intae space.

An Astrid’s soondan appen, but keeps

her innerly nirts gairded. Sheu smiles,

promieses thay’ll spaek, cheerios,

an firm taks Darling’s bombazed haand.

Darling and Astrid take a walk through the corridors of Meginwick

The corridors are lit by lamps set to Standard Days, little suns

in the girders lighting their steps. They walk the narrow ways of Astrid’s giftremembrancememory.

Round this cornernook, the school; round this, the rubbishscrap barns, where Astrid is happyfondpleased

to seespot young people still scowlstaring; further, the bubblebell they’d go to in pairs;

here, the Hall where the corridors meet, where the Council sets wagesprices and drawallocates quarters,

where benchshelves are shoved back for dances. Darling tries to listen, but

it’s so little, and just through these walls is the seatimetide, the stars, and things from an older world.

Their hands swing close, touch, entwine, pull back, touch more. And then: “Astrid?”

They whirlrushdancespin, still touching, but Astrid steps away and the strangerweird personbody