Without even meaning to, Barclay had wandered into the center of the square, still carrying The Extensive History in his arms.

“Barclay?” someone said behind him, making him turn.

Selby motioned to him from a nearby table, which he was squeezed into with his many siblings. He clutched a half-eaten bratwurst on a stick in one hand, and even though it wasn’t a mushroom, he suddenly looked unhappy to be eating it.

“W-what are you doing here?” Selby asked uneasily.

Barclay glanced longingly at one of the stands, wishing he had some money. “I was just passing by.”

Beside Selby, his siblings cheered. Barclay looked to the center of the square, where a very blond, very pink man was being wheeled in circles in a cart.

“What’s going on?” Barclay asked.

“B-because of the konig’s birthday—”

“You mean the konig’s coronation,” Barclay corrected. “And the princess’s birthday.”

“R-right. They’re giving a prize to the man in Dullshire with the m-most children, and my dad won.”

Barclay wasn’t surprised, as Selby had more siblings than he could likely count. In the center of the square, a Dullshire lawmaker awarded Selby’s father with, in lieu of a trophy, an especially large ham.

“Why are you stuttering so much?” Barclay asked him. Selby only stuttered when he was nervous.

“I…” He flushed extra pink. “I’m nervous about apple smashing and hammer throwing later.” This made sense to Barclay, who was also made easily anxious when it came to sports. “The families with the most wins gets a real trophy.”

Barclay’s shoulders sagged. He’d been to enough of Dullshire’s festivals to know how these games worked—without a family to compete with, Barclay would be excluded.

“And b-because Master Pilzmann’s looking for you,” Selby blurted.

“He is?” Barclay asked fretfully. “Did he say why?”

“No.”

“Did he look angry?”

“No.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

At that, Selby took an especially large bite of his bratwurst, and promptly choked on it. After several moments of coughing—with both Barclay and one of Selby’s sister taking turns whacking his back—Selby swallowed his mouthful and managed, “I’m going to get a drink.” And then he fled.

Barclay, now alone amid such a large crowd, felt twice as terrible as he had that morning. No doubt Master Pilzmann wanted to scold him for his behavior last night. Maybe Barclay would even be fired as an apprentice, and then what would he do?

Not ready to face his fate, Barclay headed somewhere else: the gloomy graveyard tucked behind a hill outside of town. Barclay tensed as he reached the gate in the wall that surrounded Dullshire. A large banner hung over it.

WELCOME TO DULLSHIRE

NO BEASTS

NO MAGIC

NO RIFFRAFF

The gray trees of the Woods loomed to the west. Barclay walked down a path in the opposite direction, and he swore he could sense someone—or something—watching him. The frosty wind made his skin prickle.

The graves of Franz and Alice Thorne rested side by side beneath the shade of an elm tree. Barclay visited them frequently, often with a book. But this time he hadn’t come to read.