The Green Wind turned a lazy backflip in the air and drifted down to the table. He sprawled out on it, crossing his legs before him. The Leopard of Little Breezes yawned by the fire. “Miss September, who do you think I am? Nothing but a Wind in a green handbag, that’s who.”
Perhaps he would have said more. Perhaps he would have told September that he had no more power to save anyone than a green balloon, unless what that anyone needed most was a gust of air or a well-timed cloud. Perhaps he would have told her that he had been busy with his own adventures, his own loves and losses and prisons and Yetis. Or perhaps he would simply have kissed her on the forehead and winked and flown off, for that is what most adults do when they don’t want to answer a question straight. But the Green Wind did not get a chance, for as soon as he called himself a handbag, a knock came at the door.
Hawthorn ran to the fireplace, ignoring it, speaking urgently to his friend: “You know, Tam, I’ve been thinking—”
“Yes, so have I,” Tamburlaine answered.
“Only that we must do it together. Tom and Tam, like it was back home.”
“But do you think she’ll be angry?”
“I don’t know, shall we ask the dragon?”
“Pardon me,” said A-Through-L, looking up from fussing with his nest, a bit of batting stuck to one horn. “But in the first place, I am not a Dragon, and in the second place, it’s very rude to hatch plans without including your new flatmates. Unless you’re hatching schemes rather than plans, in which case it’s downright mean.”
“You’ll just have to get used to it, Big Red! They do it all the time,” groused Blunderbuss, buried gleefully under half a foot of moss and dirt. “Only include me when they decide their little plots require an armored combat wombat, or at least a good roar. And he’s a Wyvern, dum-dums! Count the feet. Get your taxonomy straight, you’re embarrassing all of us!” Hawthorn and Tamburlaine hung their heads. “My favorite dum-dums! Best dum-dums since sliced tomfoolery.”
Tamburlaine began: “We only wanted to know if September would get mad at us if—”
“How could I be mad at anybody?” interrupted September. She stood up from the table, so full of feast and feeling she thought she might pop like a soap bubble. For a moment she stood there, a bit stiff, for Queens are not meant to tumble headlong around a room and tackle their favorite people in it. She didn’t know much about being a Queen, but she knew that. And they’d all seemed quite happy and at home without her. The room hadn’t made anything to welcome her, after all, except a bit of supper. Perhaps she wasn’t welcome.
But she tumbled anyhow, while the knocking at the door sounded again and no one paid any more attention than they had the first time. September darted across the lovely carpets and leapt into Ell’s nest. As she jumped, the Watchful Dress folded itself out of being a ball gown and into being a knockabout orange shift with sturdy stockings. She landed against the warm scarlet flank of her Wyverary, giggling madly. It was so nice to leap and land without the littlest creak in her bones. She held out her arms for Saturday and he leapt, too, all three of them ending up in a pile of laughter and mussed hair.
“How could I be mad at anybody? I started out today in prison and now I’m Queen! And it’s hardly past eight o’clock! By midnight I expect I’ll have turned into a basilisk and started a career in the ballet!” She looked round the wonderful room and pressed her lips together. Perhaps it was bad manners to feel jealous when you were a Queen.
“There’s nothing for me here at all,” said September, a prickling of hurt in her voice.
“Well, it’s not your room, is it?” said Hawthorn. He sat back in a great, soft troll-sized armchair. “Oh, I don’t mean it like that! You can come by whenever you want! But you’re the Queen! I’m sure the house has got something better for you. Something really spectacular.”
Saturday put his hand on hers. “Let’s go find your room. We can repaint it—I’m sure Crunchcrab wallpapered in barnacles or something. Let’s go find it and spill food on the floor and break all the lamps and stay up all night together like we used to do in the rum cellar. Did you know Blunderbuss can shoot passionfruits and horseshoes out of her mouth? It’s fantastic!”
“Yes, let’s!” agreed Blunderbuss heartily. “And maybe on the way we can find a library for Ell to nosh on? Castles always have libraries, usually with Forbidden Tomes in them. It’s the law.”
And September felt quite as though she had skipped several chapters in her favorite novel and opened it up again only to find everyone much further along than she.
“Come in!” sang Hawthorn and Tamburlaine together. Scratch gave a jaunty little squeak with his needle.
The Scuttler cleared his throat and opened the door with a grand sweep of his claw.