Soot’s lips curl, exposing fangs as he races up the stairs ahead of the whole pack. At the top, Hezram’s scent flows around a bend. Soot barks and barks and barks. Kyrie races up behind him and grips his muzzle. Her hands taste like a lightning storm, like the torches. The pirate women make irritation noises and pat his head. They hurry left into shadows. Soot turns right to hunt Hezram. He is a strong old wolf, obliged to follow no one. He wags his tail to disperse power odors and frighten weak enemies. Hezram is close. Soot creeps down the sunlit hall, tail high, ears flat. The trail is stronger every step. Hezram carries pieces of Yari: a cloud-silk robe, an ancient scroll, braid beads and ties. Soot pauses, confused. Yari-odors are good time memories.

Every so often Soot finds smoke-walkers whose adventures smell compelling—Awa, Yari, and a few others, Soot does not count. The good journeys blur together. Soot remembers exciting food, novel aromas, and cliffs to climb. Awa, Yari, and Soot were always rolling in sweetgrass and riding frothy ocean waves with the boat people. Best of all was soaring over cathedral trees, static wind in his fur. Now and again, Soot ventured into the everyday with Awa and Yari for weighty, smelly fun. But since bloody Hezram started stealing people and sucking elder trees dry, there is little fun in Jumbajabbaland and too much danger. Spirit slaves suck anyone and anything to ash and smoke. Soot has been trapped in the everyday too long.

Awa gripes. “I hate secret passageways.”

Soot barks at her to hurry up the stairs. He catches a hint of nut bread, honey wine, and moth cocoons. Yari wore cocoons when Hezram poisoned vie in Jumbajabbaland. Since losing Yari, Soot doesn’t risk more than a brief trip beyond the smoke. Hezram or some priest might take him prisoner or turn him to smoke. Fiends rule most regions. Soot has only found the cold, lonely realm once or twice, by accident—running for his life, taking a desperate turn.

Awa is out of breath and sweating at the top of the stairs. Still, she scratches his head, ready for anything. Eager, Soot creeps toward Hezram. Awa points the direction Kyrie and the pirate women go. Soot sticks his nose in a pile of dead bugs and barks. Awa rubs her face. Soot whines. She drags herself toward him, glancing back at Bal and Djola. They follow Kyrie also.