The rubber net lurched, slamming Thuy’s knee into her chin. She saw stars. Grunting with effort, Gladax was hauling the net into the air, using a rope through a pulley in the ceiling. Annoyed at being so roughly handled, Thuy made her first really serious effort to tear out of the net. But to no avail. The elastic meshes absorbed her kicks, only to snap back the harder.

The net rose higher, bringing Thuy’s face even with Gladax’s. Gladax had set aside her mayoral trappings; she was back to looking like a sloppy old woman in dark green sweatpants and a souvenir T-shirt.

“I’ll have to addle that jump-code away from you,” Gladax told Thuy. She secured the net. And now she extruded a slender rod of light from the tip of her forefinger; the glowing probe was six or seven inches in length. “If you cooperate, this won’t have to hurt you. I have a very delicate touch.”

“All I want is to stop Luty’s nants,” cried Thuy. “You want that too. Don’t stick that thing in my head. Let me—let me take your harp back to the Lobrane and I’ll leave right away.”

Gladax snorted impatiently. “Upstart gnome. That harp’s been in my family for over twenty generations. From the Dutch side. You wouldn’t know how to use it. You’d ruin it, likely as not. Or let the subbies steal it from you while you’re jumping branes.”

Thuy could telepathically sense Ond and Chu in the street outside Gladax’s mansion. They were supposed to save her by tunneling up through the floor. But right now they were arguing rather than digging in. Uneasily Thuy recalled how poorly the father and son had done in their practice video games.

Gladax leaned closer, narrowing her finger ray to the thinness of a knitting needle. She pursed her lips in concentration, humming to herself. As the net rotated, Thuy went into a frenzy of kicking and stopped only when her knee collided with her chin again. Big dogs were barking somewhere nearby. Thuy saw the garden, a door, the wispy paintings, and, at the other end of the room, the gold-leafed harp, small by Hibrane standards, but nearly as tall as Thuy. Its strings were as linear flaws in space, like transparent tubes warping the view of the wall. The soundbox had colors on it.

Gladax hopped over to the antique harp. “I’m going to isolate you now,” she said. “I wouldn’t want you to be messaging anything to your little friends.”

Maybe Thuy should teleport herself out of here before—

ZONGGG