“Not necessary,” Dad says, unfazed. “You’ll lead us to Jeb. I have ways of convincing you.” He pats the sheathed dagger slung over his left arm.
“Agreed,” Morpheus snips. “It’s not as if I have a choice in the matter.” His retort is edged with frustration. It’s got to be more than Dad’s iron dagger persuading him. After all, he can take off and fly anytime he wants.
He turns on his heel and starts picking his way through the small floating islands, using the walking stick to bridge the moats like he did earlier. Dad and I follow.
Balancing on the bobbing ground makes the trek difficult until we learn where to step, and fall into a rhythm. Momentary bouts of activity dot the landscape: packs of fluffy rabbits bounding along in the distance that, upon closer inspection, have the same muzzles and sharp canines as wolves; crocodile-like creatures lifting their heads out of the moats—giant jaws yawning to reveal soft white teeth reminiscent of toothbrush bristles; and centipedes scrambling beneath thorny weeds to protect bodies covered with silvery velvet hides and legs studded with tiny green jewels.
Most of the animals and bugs ignore us, which I prefer. I can’t hear them or the flowers. But when my tunic catches on a plant with dangling fruits that look like leathery crimson teacups hung upside down, I consider touching it.
“I would not bother those, were I you,” Morpheus calls from in front of me, not even sparing a glance my way.
I jerk my hand back. “Is the fruit poisonous?”
“It’s not fruit,” Dad answers from behind. “Those are egg sacs for AnyElsewhere’s amphibious genus of bats.”
Bats that live on land and in water. Creepy.
I give the plants a wide berth so as not to disturb the teacup-shaped flower pods. The poem from Carroll’s story echoes in the back of my mind:
Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!
How I wonder what you’re at!
Up above the world you fly,
Like a tea tray in the sky.
Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!
How I wonder what you’re at!
While trying to remember the rest of the words, I stumble into a large shrub. A confused medley of monarch butterflies stirs from the leaves. Their wings are paper-thin and metallic, like a mix between hammered copper and stained glass. I reach to capture one, but my netherling intuition stops my hand midair.
“What about the butterflies?” I ask.
“They’re indigenous to this place,” Morpheus answers from a few steps ahead, before Dad can. “And by that, you can expect them to be the opposite of what you’d expect. The crocodiles’ teeth are as gentle as a brushstroke, and their temperament the same. They’re rather like kittens in this world. But butterflies? One sting, and you’re turned to stone. Or, they might choose to slice an artery with a razor-sharp wing. The constant changes in scenery serve to keep the wildlife distracted. Ignore them, and they’ll show you the same courtesy.”
As the graceful butterflies ride away on a current of air, I notice a shiny, sharp needle protruding from each of their thoraxes, curved and poison-tipped like a scorpion’s stinger.
Things quiet down as the wildlife moves on to their usual routines. If you could call anything about teacup-eggs and metal-winged scorpions usual . . .
After discussing a few other weird creatures with Dad, I release my wings and flutter to catch up to Morpheus.
He glances over as I light beside him. A satisfied smile greets me.
“What?” I ask.
“You may not be dressed like royalty, but it’s good to see you embrace your netherling side so openly.”
I study my red boots, suppressing a rush of pride. He doesn’t know the half of how easy it’s getting to let the madness have free reign. “So, are you going to tell me who this Manti is? Is he dangerous?”
“Bah. He’s an ambitious manticorn who’s been a lowly knave for far too long. He craves prestige and power. Nothing to concern you.”
The fact that there’s a real-life half man/half unicorn running around is enough to concern me, and Morpheus’s assurance feels forced at best.
“Don’t you think we’d get there faster if we flew?” I ask to suppress my jittery nerves. “Dad can use your griffon. You could let him ride him.”
Morpheus returns his attention to the landscape. His bejeweled profile sparkles from red to black. “I don’t much feel like sharing with your father. I’m sure you can understand.”
“Then wait for us, and I’ll go back and get one of the parasols the birds left.”
“Don’t much feel like waiting, either.”
I frown. “Stop being so petty.” I look back at Dad, who’s keeping us in his sight from a few steps behind. “Put yourself in his place. Can you imagine what he’s been through? The nightmares he’s had to relive and accept as reality over the past few hours?”
Several steps ahead of me now, Morpheus lifts his head, letting the humid breeze ripple the blue fringe at the edges of his hat. “Yes, poor fellow. Must’ve been unbearable, realizing how much the woman he adores loves him back.”