And it began to cry. Quentin thought he had never heard a more pathetic sound. The bird fluttered down from its perch on the chandelier like a pheasant creased by a bullet. It landed on the coffee table and squatted there, sobbing.

Something coherent was forming in Quentin’s exhausted brain, like a crystal forming in a murky liquid. He’d been looking at chaos for so long, he barely remembered what a pattern looked like, but now he thought he saw at least a fragment of one.

“Hang on,” he said slowly. “Let’s think this through. Rupert stole the stuff in the case, Ember wants it back. He sends a bird to Earth to recover it for Him. The bird hires us to find it.”

Plum picked up the thread. “The stuff in the case was Umber’s, not Ember’s, according to Rupert, but I guess they’re brothers so it’s all in the family. But so why would Ember want it?”

“Why wouldn’t he? Cool knife? Spell for making a magic land? Who wouldn’t want that?”

“A god?” Eliot said. “Who already has a whole magic world?”

“Except He doesn’t.” All the lights came on in Quentin’s head at once. “He doesn’t though. Fillory is dying, and Ember has nowhere to go. He wants the spell so he can use it to make a new world! He’s going to give up on Fillory—abandon it and start over!”

It came out in a rush, which was followed by a pause. Plum made a skeptical face.

“But it fits!” Quentin said. “He’s not even trying to save Fillory! He’s a rat who won’t go down with his ship!”

“That,” Eliot said, “is a mixed metaphor. And listen to me: I know you’ve got no reason to love Ember, but that seems a little cowardly.”

“Yes, because He’s a coward!”

“Plus you know the spell doesn’t make a whole world, right?” Plum said. “Just like a land?”

“Maybe that’s just us. Maybe a god could do more with it.”

She looked up at the ceiling, considering. The blackbird watched all three of them desperately.

“Even if that’s true,” Eliot said, “what would we do about it? It’s kind of depressing me actually. Just more proof that there’s no way out of this.”

Quentin sat down. Maybe he was getting ahead of himself.

“We still have the spell,” he said.

“Destroy it,” Eliot said.

“No.” He couldn’t do that.

“We have the bird,” Eliot said. “We could turn the tables. Take it hostage.”