The snake seemed to be trying to turn a different color, to blend in with the bit of lichen on one side and a scrap of stone on the other, but it was slow work. She squatted down to watch it go. “Whoa-ey. I din’t know snakes could shift to green and back agin.”

The creature’s lidless eyes were baleful and patient. “A lot could go green if they tried harder,” it said. “Keep it in mind.” Rain reared back, never having met a talking Snake before, nor heard of one even.

She thought they were only storylike. The Snake finished its conversion to camouflage, and she couldn’t see it anymore.

She missed the Snake but she appreciated the advice. “Right-o,” she said to where it had been. “Oh and—sorry.”

4.

Rain told them about the ships al ruined, and the dragons, dead or fled. The companions looked at Mr. Boss. He just shrugged.

“Assuming most of the soldiers survived and regrouped on shore, Cherrystone’s first order of business wil be to find us,” said Brrr. Patient as a marmoreal Lion. Though he was finding it hard not to scream. “The Clock predicted a watery rout, remember? And Cherrystone might guess we had a mighty charm for making it come true. We realy can’t hang around waiting for the Clock to stamp our hal slip.”

“Hey, the Lion’s right. We’ve been romping back and forth across hostile ground for the better part of a year now.” This from a boy with a chestnut mop. Brrr had never heard him speak before. “With that watery zoo in flames last night, we’re going to be everyone’s first target of revenge.”

The towhead said, “And how. Thankth to the bloody Clock’th little prophethy to the military. That wath a colathal fucking mithtake, that wath.” Yet another virgin opinion: “It’s time we decided which way—”

The dwarf interrupted the boy. “When you start to think about deciding, it’s time for you to decide to leave.”

“Maybe we wil,” groused a fourth felow. “Being wanted in military sabotage is different from being a hand servant to Fate.”

“And you can’t risk bossing Fate around,” spat the dwarf. “You’re going to second-guess me, get out. I mean it.”

The speaker, a kid shaggy with corkscrews of cobalt black, lost a measure of his resolve. He backed up a step, as if to give the dwarf room to back down too.

“I’m not stopping you,” said Mr. Boss, “nor you other felows. We’ve managed for years either to negotiate a kind of diplomatic immunity or to squelch out of any cowpie we happen to step into. Our stretch of luck might be over, though. Get used to it or get another hobby.”

“But luck, what is luck, up next to Fate—” The boys couldn’t wriggle out of the propaganda snarled around their hearts.

“Save yourselves. Last one to leave, put out the moon. You too, daughter.” The dwarf pointed a gnarled forefinger at Ilianora. “Nothing’s holding you here.”