Rownie put the pebble into the only pocket of his coat. “He might be on the bridge,” he said quietly. “I look for him there, and sometimes I see someone who looks like him, though it isn’t ever really him. But maybe he’s there.”

“We have also searched the sanctuary of the Fiddleway,” Thomas said, “and we also have not found him. But we will keep searching. We are grateful for any help you can provide.”

“What do you mean, his former household will be hunting for him?” Essa asked. “We have to worry about old Chicken Legs? Again?”

“Yes,” said Semele. “Please be cautious around pigeons. Tell me if you see them. Tell me if you dream of them, and shout if you wake up from such a dream.”

“Pigeons aren’t very clever,” said Essa. “I mean, I knew an owl who could use doorknobs, and a pair of crows who played harpsichord together. They had terrible voices, but were really just fantastic at the harpsichord. But pigeons are so dumb and mangy-looking. Do we really have to worry about them?”

“Yes,” said Semele. “Tell me if you dream of them.”

“Speaking of dreams,” said Thomas, “it is time we all went to our rest. We have a long walk before the show and the search tomorrow. Choose your masks for the morning walk, and then to bed. Here, Rownie. This one will be yours.” He took off his hat, reached in, and removed a mask shaped like a fox’s face. It had furry fox ears and a long fox nose, with whiskers.

Rownie took the mask and looked it over. It smiled with small, sharp teeth. Its fur was short, and coarse when his thumb rubbed it in the wrong direction. He smoothed the fur back again.

“You will also wear gloves and a hat,” Thomas told him, “in order to hide your un-Tamlinish features. The Guard would be very unhappy with us for teaching maskcraft to an unChanged child. In this way you may hide with us, in full view and in daylight, and seem to be Tamlin yourself. Now, everyone to their rest. I’ll see to the cleaning up. Rownie, find yourself a spare hammock in the wagon and keep the fox nearby while you sleep.” The old goblin poured the rest of the kettle’s contents over the fire. It hissed, sputtered, and steamed.

“Good night,” said Semele.