“Dad’s fan mail. And I don’t want them!” Tadg barked, but the mailwoman wouldn’t take no for an answer. Even when he tried to shove the sack back over the counter, she began pelting him with letters, forcing him to duck for cover behind the quill stand.

Meanwhile, Viola grimaced over her delivery.

“What is it?” Barclay asked.

“Oh.” She threw on a smile. “Mom sent me a birthday present! She couldn’t reach me while I was in the Elsewheres, obviously, but look!” Viola showed him a collection of dazzling, gold pins—twelve for her twelfth birthday. Her coat was already so covered that Barclay had no idea where she would put new ones, but she seemed pleased.

“What about the letter?” The back of the envelope gleamed with a wax seal of a three-headed dragon. It looked very official.

Viola quickly tucked it behind her back. “It’s nothing.”

“That’s the Grand Keeper’s seal, isn’t it?” Yasha asked. “What did your dad write?”

“Probably the same thing he’s been writing ever since he heard rumors I was in the Woods. That he’s disappointed that I left Cyril—as if it’s my fault. That he’s worried about me. That I shouldn’t trust Runa.”

At that, she tore the letter into strips.

“Hmph. At least Mom remembered my birthday!”

As they left the shop, the four of them awkwardly helped lug Tadg’s fifty-pound sack of fan mail back to the Planty Shanty.

Tadg groaned louder with every few steps. “I say we just dump it out at sea.”

“That’s polluting,” Barclay told him. Polluting was highly illegal in Dullshire.

“And it’s a shame!” Viola said. “These are letters for your dad. Don’t you want to read them?”

“What for? It’s not like these people even knew him. All they say are—oof!”

The four of them, too focused on carrying the sack to pay attention to where they were stepping, knocked into someone. Barclay and Viola both tumbled to the ground, the sack toppling onto their laps.

“There you all are,” Shazi said impatiently. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you. We’ve come up with an idea.”

“For the record,” Hasu said, twiddling her fingers, “this was Shazi’s idea.”

“I helped!” Cecily added cheerfully.

“What kind of idea?” Tadg asked.

“If we want to know whether Runa or Cyril is a better teacher, then the answer is obvious.” Shazi licked her lips. “A competition.”

“Competition?” Viola repeated, shoving her side of the heavy sack onto Barclay.

Barclay groaned and squirmed out from beneath it. “That doesn’t sound like a good—”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Viola cut in.