Ell glared at her through his sea-glass spectacles. He clutched The Mystery of the Blue Train in his claws. September hadn’t seen it in the chaos. It had a silver arrow through the cover. “But it’s not yours! Not everything in the world is yours just because you want it. My great-grandmother gave it to me because she loves me and it’s how I know she loves me.”
Mallow sunk to her knees. Her shadow sank softly down behind her. “Wyvern, where do you think the library got it? A novel by Agatha Christie? Published in London and New York in 1928? Tell me, is Agatha a spriggan or a pooka? Or a dragon? It’s mine. I had it in my satchel when I stumbled through into Fairyland from my father’s attic. Most people don’t think it’s her best but I loved it. I used to sit up in bed in my little house in Winesap and read it over and over. I read my books of magic, too, and my neighbors’ whole collection of Fairy romances, but I always came back to the jewel thief and the heiress and the wonderful train. I lost it when I moved to the Briary, after I cut down Goldmouth and sewed him up into a ball so he could never hurt anyone again. I searched for years, as Mallow, as the Marquess, but I could never find it. It was the only human thing I loved. It is the only human thing of mine left. If you don’t give it back to me I shall start screaming and never stop.”
A-Through-L gripped the book so tightly its boards creaked. But he couldn’t bear to see anyone cry, in the end. He put it on the tiled floor and scooted it over to Mallow with his long black claw, unwilling to get very close to her. She picked it up with such care, running her hands over the cover and holding it to her cheek before she opened it like a knight opening a chest of treasure. Good Queen Mallow flipped through the pages, touching the story with her fingertips, the words that described the greatest jewel thief in the world and how he stole a ruby called the Heart of Fire and almost, just almost, got away with it. Her hand hovered over the master thief’s name, a name that, when she was young and afraid, always seemed to her so full of power and mystery and strength that the letters could hardly contain it: The Marquis.
“It’s how we found her,” Blunderbuss grumbled. “The Marquis always tries to get off the train before the Inspector can figure out his game. We thought she’d try to head everyone off, too, and switch the Heart of Fairyland with a fake … well, assuming someone got it somewhere along the way and all trains end at Mummery … but she didn’t have anything.”
“Mallow,” Lye said softly. “Mallow?” The Marquess did not look up from her book. “Mallow,” the soap golem begged. “Please hug me. Please hold me. Please, oh, please. I have waited so many years to be hugged by you again and you said you would come back but you didn’t, you didn’t come back and I got older and I waited and waited and I don’t want to wait anymore and I know you wouldn’t stop loving me just because you got really busy with being a villain I know that’s an awful lot of work but I am lonely and awful too so please hold me I have earned it.”
Mallow looked up at the soap golem she had made when she wasn’t much more than a girl, and everything was yet to happen to her. She held out her arms like a child and Lye fell into them. They sat that way for a long while.
“I don’t understand,” Mallow said finally, tugging her hat back down. “What’s the purpose of this? Why bring me here? Why not just let us fight it out? I’d have won, Lye, I promise. That one’s just yarn. Besides, September won’t last much longer. She’s almost out of time.”
“What do you mean?” said Halloween sharply, hopping out of the water in the fountain. September jumped up guiltily and pulled out her Rivet Gun—in all the excitement she had forgotten their bargain. You must let me free when it’s done. No tricks. I won’t be a shackled shadow again. September held it behind her, against the place where she and her shadow joined. She thought of that day on the ferry with Charlie Crunchcrab and the Glashtyn when she lost her shadow the first time. It had hurt, then. September fired. Halloween leapt free, spinning on one toe with the joy of it. Saturday hopped up on a half-fallen wall. He chewed his nails, fascinated by all these strangers and their urgent whispers. It was better than the circus.
The Marquess tried to smile her old wicked smile, her triumphant smile, her smile of knowing something no one else knows. But it would not come quite right. With her shadow’s hand on her shoulder and Lye’s fingers stroking her cheek, with Iago trotting over to rest his great black head on her knee, she could not find her devilish smile in the cabinets of her heart. Her hair flushed a confused deep purple. She ran her fingers along Iago’s sleek dark spine and drew up September’s hourglass. The bottom bell was nearly full. Only a few grains remained in the top.