“Shame the old man didn’t see you with the Soaring Spirit, though,” she went on. “Oh, brother drear wouldn’t like you playing with toys like that at all, bunny. But maybe you do, eh? You’re allowed secrets, Alexander. You’ve already kept secrets, haven’t you? We all have secrets. Even your wonderful old grandpapa. . . .”

Alex’s vision shook as the pounding between his ears pulsed faster. The shadowy figure above seemed to stretch and lurch strangely in the air.

“Bet he never told you . . .” The voice came and went on waltzing waves of pain. “. . . your daddy, eh? Bet he nev . . . daddy . . . even brighter bunny than you. And bet ol’ Grandad never told . . . Daddy died, hmm?”

“What?” Alex whispered. He couldn’t make out what she was saying. He sank back on his heels.

“My father would never let me die,” Zia continued haughtily. “But s’pose it takes all sorts. Anyway, you just take another little nap now, until we’re ready to begin your schooling.”

She turned away, and then something was hovering in the well’s opening, slowly descending. Alex tensed and got unsteadily to his feet. His head felt like the inside of a drum being battered by an angry toddler, but he rubbed his eyes as clear as he could.

Another flier, but there was something about the shadowed shape that was different. Eventually, he saw. The flying thing carried a second machine: thinner, with a head like an elongated egg, and arms that tapered to pin-sharp points.

He’d seen one before, when it had tried to stab him in his bed, just before his world turned inside out—a stinger, his grandfather had called it, warning its needles would put him to sleep. Or worse. The little arms were already cycling hungrily, making enthusiastic jabbing motions as it drew nearer.

Alex backed away and slipped off his parka. When the machines got within range, he jumped, whipping out with the coat. The flier dodged, but he swatted again and caught it a glancing blow. The robot bobbled in the air, then recovered and shot upward, disappearing out the well. Alex felt a tiny, grim thrill of victory. It dissolved as he realized that the departing flier no longer carried the stinger.

The leaves at his feet rustled, and a silvery little arm broke through, making a stabbing lunge at his toes. With a yelp, he leapt across the well. The thing disappeared. Alex stood frozen, searching the ground, listening. Risking a glance up, he saw Zia leaning over, watching. A noise brought his attention back down in time to catch a stirring of the leaves. He dived for the spot, spreading out his coat and pressing down hard.

Alex knelt staring at the blank green fabric stretched between his fists. A needle jabbed through, wiggled meanly, then vanished. A second later it came knifing out again, nearer his left hand.