“No, those are brains,” Tadg said after Barclay pointed them out. He scooped several sopping ones into a bag. “Mar-Mar loves them.”

Barclay was dismayed to find that the treats were expensive, but he felt Root deserved something special after being cooped up in his Mark while they traveled. So, on Yasha’s recommendation, Barclay paid three kritters for a small pouch of Bristlebuck knuckles.

“They’re Motya’s favorites,” Yasha said. “And Motya has a very refined palette.”

Unfortunately, that was not the last of their errands. But, Viola assured them, this next stop really was the “last place” she had to visit.

They entered a small building wedged between a fishmonger and a magical-wig boutique. The walls behind the counter were covered in wooden cubbies, and within each one, a Beast rested. Some were the pelican Beasts Barclay had seen delivering parcels. The others were dragons. They might’ve been small, but they didn’t look much like Mitzi. These were adults, judging by the wrinkles around their snouts and graying feathers. They wore tiny, brown uniforms with red neckerchiefs.

“What is this place?” Barclay asked.

“It’s a post office,” answered Tadg. “Didn’t you visit the one in Sycomore?”

Then Barclay noticed the birds and dragons along the far wall being prepped for departure, with leather backpacks tucked behind their wings. A miniature runway stretched out the window.

“The Fwishts deliver goods around the nine Isles,” Yasha explained to Barclay. “The dragons specialize in long distance delivery. They can zap all across the world.”

No sooner did he finish speaking than one postal dragon took off down the runway. It flapped its wings once, twice, and then—boom! It launched outside and into the sky, leaving behind a wispy ring of smoke.

Viola approached the woman at the counter, who wore aviator goggles ringed with soot. She asked Viola for her name.

“Hm… Dumont… Yes, I think we received some parcels for you.” The woman’s goggly eyes fell on Tadg. “Ah! Murdock boy!” she screeched. “At last!”

Startled, Tadg collided with a display of phoenix feather quills labeled FOR SECRET MESSAGES. JUST ADD HEAT! “What? Me?”

“I have three seasons worth of letters for you. Yes, yes, our whole supply closet is full of them!” She cackled, then scurried into the back room.

“Why would you have that many letters?” Barclay asked him.

“I have no idea,” Tadg answered.

The woman returned with a small package and letter in her arms… and a sack the size of a baby Slanntramór hauled over her shoulder. Groaning, she thrust the package and letter into Viola’s hands; then she hoisted the sack onto the counter. Dozens of letters spilled out onto the floor.

All of them were addressed to Conley Murdock.

“What are all these?” asked Barclay. He’d never seen so much mail for one person.