Alyssa nodded. “And you always make them out of wood?”

Iona peered at Alyssa. “What else would they be made of?”

Alyssa stared back at her for a moment. “Yes, of course. Silly question. Anyway, this was really helpful.” She turned to go back to the ladder—but Iona put a hand on her shoulder.

“No, you must have been thinking of something else. Tell me.”

“Ignore me, you know far more about these things than I do—”

“Tell me,” said Iona with more force than she’d intended. But she desperately wanted to know what was on Alyssa’s mind. Because it was true, the wood warped so easily, there had to be something better than wood but what could that be? She was thinking of the hat, the felt hat, and she felt sure Alyssa was about to say—

“Stone?” Alyssa said, looking anxious.

Iona shook her head. “Stone is too precious, the quantities are too small, we need it for furnaces, and—that’s not what you were going to say. What were you going to say?” She tried to be less intense, make it sound like more of an academic interest. “Good ideas can come from anywhere, I just wanted to listen to your—”

“I was going to say . . . concrete.”

Concrete. It was a dream-word. Somehow Iona knew Alyssa was about to say a dream-word. Even stranger than that was how the dream-word seemed to fit perfectly in the conversation when, by rights, it should make no sense at all.

“What is concrete?” Iona asked.

“Don’t you know?”

“Just tell me.”

“It’s . . . just something I heard someone say. I don’t know what it is. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Tell me more about foundations. It’s fascinating.”

Iona felt sure Alyssa was lying, that she knew what concrete was but didn’t want to say. Did Alyssa have the dreams too?

3

“OUCH!” SAID THE KING.

Clarence trotted into the king’s chambers with a noticeable lack of urgency. “What’s the matter?”

The king leaned over and showed Clarence his thumb. A splinter protruded from the center of a tiny but growing bead of blood.

“Are you expecting me to pull it out?” asked Clarence.

“No, I can do that myself. You asked me what the matter was so I showed you.” The king turned away and walked to the window to get better light. He plucked the splinter out, flicked it away through the window, and sucked on the wound.

“How did it happen?” asked Clarence. “Was it the wall again?”

“No, my crown.” The king’s crown lay on the floor, where he had dropped it due to the shock. “I’m sending it back. It’s not properly finished. The inside rim isn’t smooth enough. That could have gone right into my head.”

“Imagine the carnage. Are you going to have anyone punished for it?”

“What? No.” The king sucked his thumb again. “When have I ever had anyone punished for anything?”

“If you did, maybe it would raise standards.”