“It’s not really about what they ‘do.’ ” The kharakters concern what you do. But the shade tells you why you do it. Everyone is a blend of all six shades, but most people fall between two shades in particular. It’s up to them to develop themselves in one direction or another. Philosophers ask the big questions about life. Aesthetes prioritize beauty. Artisans create useful things. Protectors keep things safe. Galloglasses, well, we don’t have any of them here. We expel any that we find. They are individualists who act for their own profit—completely out of place here on the mainland. Shapers are people who change things. Obviously we prefer shapers who end up on the philosopher side than the galloglass side. Any questions?”

“No,” said Effie. “Well actually, what are you?”

“I’m between shaper and artisan.”

“But they’re not next to one another, are they?”

Dr. Wiseacre sighed. “You’re observant, aren’t you? It’s far too complex to get into now, but it’s possible in rare cases to move across, rather than around, the circle.”

“Oh. That sounds interesting.”

“It is. Now, any more thoughts on what you might be?”

“Probably a protector. I mean, I want to defend Dragon’s Green and my friends and . . . But I don’t really make things, so that must mean I’m going toward philosopher rather than artisan? I do think a lot about how the world works.”

“Interesting. Not many philosophers left on the island, so it’s fairly unlikely. And, as I said, it’s extremely rare to move across the circle.” Dr. Wiseacre got up. “I need to go and consult with a colleague. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

While she was gone Effie looked at the chart again. She thought about her friends. Maximilian would probably be somewhere between philosopher and aesthete, she supposed, what with all his Beethoven tapes and trips to the Underworld to learn deep secrets about life. Raven, with all her spells and witchy ideas, would probably be a philosopher shaper. Lexy would definitely be a protector artisan, with all her homemade healing remedies. Wolf? Effie wasn’t so sure. He was probably a protector like her, but what direction would he be going in?

After a couple more minutes, the door opened and Dr. Wiseacre entered again. She was not alone. With her was a man in a very black cloak who looked as if he had never smiled in his life. His face was etched with hundreds of deep wrinkles and more than one massive scar. He had what looked like a large thorn growing out of each ear.

“Mr. Greyday, here is the galloglass,” said Dr. Wiseacre, not catching Effie’s eye.

Effie didn’t understand at first that she meant her.

“What?” said Effie, when she realized. “But . . . No, that’s—”

“Take her away, Frank,” said Dr. Wiseacre.