“The wind is really something,” said Giddon as it threw itself against the windows. “You’d think we’d be able to hear the ocean, in a house on a cliff above the sea.” Then he noticed a doorknob-like handle on the edge of one of the tall windows. He went to it to investigate. The window was actually a glass door on a swinging frame.

Opening it, he stepped out onto a small, flat platform and found himself overlooking the sea. The wind slammed against him.

“Giddon,” said Hava urgently, startling him, for he hadn’t heard her join him. She pointed out to sea. He followed her finger with his gaze, but saw nothing.

Then, all at once, his eyes found the bulbous, purple-blue bodies, racing across the surface of the sea. “Silbercows,” Giddon cried, which made them turn suddenly to reach their noses to the house, the balcony, though they couldn’t possibly have heard Giddon’s voice from that distance.

They feel us, he thought. They see us. He sensed their curiosity suddenly, like a whisper under his skin. Tentatively, he tried to talk to them, stretching his thoughts out across the water, not knowing how to make himself heard. A house on a cliff? he said. An airship? A disturbance in the water? What does it mean?

Suddenly, unbelievably, he felt their voices.

Who are you? they asked him. How do you know our stories? But it wasn’t words; it was images and feelings, impressions rushing through Giddon, like the battering wind against his body. They showed him the house high on a cliff, indistinct, but with rows of shining windows. They showed him a dark oval in the sky, blocking the sun: an airship. Then he saw an explosion in the water, a massive flash of light, terrifying, obliterating the sea, and he had to hold hard to the rail, and remind himself it was a picture, not something real. He felt the silbercows’ pain. It took his breath away.

Help us, they said. Stop them.

Stop them doing what? said Giddon. What’s happening?

They showed him a new picture. A boat at the bottom of the sea, with a pale gray hull. Keepish markings on its side said “Seashell.” Its hull was splintered. Its cabin door was closed, padlocked. Inside the boat’s cabin, visible through a porthole, were two bodies.

Mikka! Giddon cried. Brek!

Mikka, Brek? the silbercows said, curious, but not understanding.

Our friends! Giddon said. Those two bodies. Someone closed them in there! They were murdered! This is proof!

Proof? said the silbercows. Then they showed him a new image: Outside the boat was a gigantic, many-legged, many-eyed creature. An impossible creature, like the Keeper. And now Giddon was confused about everything he was seeing, because maybe it was all just a fairy tale.

It’s real, they told him. Our friend is guarding your proof. But can you help us? Will you stop them?