“You don’t think I can do wrong?”
“I’m not saying that.”
“But what if I’m doing something wrong, and I don’t mean to?”
Geppetto twisted the tip of his mustache. “I don’t think I’m following you, son.”
Pinocchio glanced down the hallway, making sure no one was listening. He lowered his voice. “Yesterday…during the storm, you stopped me from helping Lazuli control the wind.”
“Because I didn’t want the Pearl changing you anymore,” his father said.
“But I’m the one who has the Pearl, Father. If we’re to secure the prison and stop these monsters from escaping, I’ll have to use it.”
“No, son,” Geppetto said. “You won’t.” He clapped a hand to the book on the table. “Why do you think I’m reading all these? I’m looking for another solution. A way for this problem to be solved without you having to use the Pearl!”
Maestro bounced from Geppetto’s shoulder to the table, turning to face him. “But, Geppetto, you said yourself—you only see Pinocchio in the best light. It’s blinding you. You don’t want him to use the Pearl because you’re afraid of the costs. But what will the costs be for Abaton if he doesn’t use the Pearl?”
“He has to learn how to master the Pearl without it changing him back!” Geppetto growled.
“How?” Maestro asked.
“I don’t know.” Geppetto made a fist. “I’ve searched every page of these books Dr. Nundrum gave us and found nothing. The answer must be somewhere in Abaton’s records, in some other book. I’ll…I’ll find out.”
Pinocchio shook his head dismally. “Cinnabar’s right. He said the Ancientmost Pearl’s in the wrong hands.”
His father shook his head irritably. “Don’t listen to him, Pinocchio—”
“But what if bad things happen to Abaton because I refuse to use the Pearl? The people trust me to be their prester!”
“And if their prester becomes an automa, they’ll cast us out of Abaton!”
Pinocchio swallowed hard. “Is that why you…is that what you’re afraid of, Father?”
Geppetto pulled back, hurt. Then his careworn face drew into a knot of utmost tenderness. He cupped his hands over Pinocchio’s. “My boy. My dearest son. No. I’m not afraid of losing Abaton. What terrifies me is that if you turn back into an automa, I’ll lose you.”
Despite what Chief Muckamire had said, Grootslang Hole turned out to be a hole. Or maybe more of a pit. Pinocchio wasn’t disappointed, however. It was a pretty extraordinary pit.
The ancient city of the gnomes was tiered like a gigantic amphitheater, rings of palaces and guildhalls, taverns and smelting furnaces going down step by concentric step until the lowest streets must only have gotten direct sunlight for about a minute each day.
By the time Rion had docked the ship along the uppermost wall, Chief Muckamire was scurrying to meet them. “Your Majesties! My goodness. Your ship! Have the monsters attacked you as well?”
“No,” Mezmer said. “A freak storm wrecked our ship.”
“And reckless piloting.” Cinnabar cut his eyes at Sop.
Lazuli looked sharply at Chief Muckamire. “Did you say as well? Has the manticore attacked again?”
“Haven’t you heard, Your Majesty?” the gnome replied, fumbling his fingers together. “Not just the manticore. A dozen monsters—maybe more! Word just arrived this morning.”
Pinocchio felt a ripple of fear run through him. “Where? Back at the Moonlit Court?”
“No, a village at the far edge of the Caldera Desert. Just a remote mining town, really, called Sunder. From what I gathered from Dr. Nundrum’s letter, the monsters appeared in the middle of the night. Fortunately, most of the village’s inhabitants are nocturnal chimera who scour the desert sands for luminous astergems. So nearly everyone was out of the village at the time. But their homes are in ruins.”
“If Sunder is in the Caldera, it could be near the prison,” Lazuli said. “Did anyone see which way they went? Are they attacking elsewhere?”
“The few that witnessed the attack said it was as if the monsters appeared from the sky in puffs of smoke,” Chief Muckamire said. “And disappeared that way after they laid waste to the town.”
“That’s what the manticore did at the banquet,” Pinocchio said. “She disappeared into smoke.”
Chief Muckamire cast an anxious glance at their ship. “Wherever they’re headed next, we must find a way to get you to the prison immediately—”
“Shouldn’t we find these escaped monsters first?” asked Lazuli.
“Your Majesty,” Chief Muckamire said. “Which is more urgent? A dozen escaped monsters or having the entire thousand of Diamancer’s army released upon Abaton? I’ve already spoken to the other high nobles, and we all agree—your aunt included—what’s most critical is that Prester Pinocchio stop the others from escaping the prison. The Noble Houses will do all we can to protect our people from the dozen who have gotten out. We’ve already sent letters out to township mayors, urging them to create safe shelters and defenses.”
Mezmer put her hands to her hips. “It’s times like this you wish Abaton still had an army.”
Chief Muckamire furrowed his brow.
“How quickly can your gnomes repair the ship?” Geppetto asked.
Already a troop of tiny gnomes was gathering beneath the ship with Cinnabar, talking to one another and inspecting the damage.
Chief Muckamire scratched his beard. “We have many fine carpenters in Grootslang who can begin right away. But I can’t imagine they’ll finish in less than a week.”
“A week!” Mezmer barked. “We can’t wait that long.”
“Isn’t there another way for us to travel?” Pinocchio asked. “Flying carpets?” He glanced at Rion and Quila. “Griffins?”
Chief Muckamire gave an embarrassed shrug. “Our people aren’t much for flight. We have slithersteeds and rhinocerovers we could offer.”
“Not fast enough,” Mezmer said. “Don’t get too comfortable with all the gnomish hospitality. I’ll find a quicker way to get us to the prison.” She pointed to Rion. “Can I trust you to keep a good watch over the presters, dear?”
The sylph gave an eager smile. “Certainly, General. But where are you going?”
“To do a little investigating. Come along, Sop.”
The cat slumped his shoulders, following. “Can we investigate a good place to eat first?”
Chief Muckamire motioned for the presters to follow him, leading them from the uppermost walls down onto a broad boulevard crowded with gnomes and the occasional chimera merchant. They parted for their presters, bowing or curtsying, all eyes following them.
Pinocchio couldn’t help but think their expressions seemed to be searching for assurance that he would save them from this threat. He folded his gloved hands beneath his cloak guiltily and tried not to meet their gaze.
“Chief Muckamire,” Lazuli said as she walked beside the gnome. “Dr. Nundrum was able to tell us the location of the prison, but nothing about what we’d find there. If Prester Pinocchio and I are going to stop more of these monsters from escaping, we need to know how they’re waking.”
“Indeed,” the gnome lord said. “And how to get them back to sleep.”
“Do you know?”
“Me?” Chief Muckamire blinked his tiny black eyes. “No, I can’t say that I do, but of course there are our libraries. The finest in all of Abaton. I could have my most learned historians begin searching at once. If the answer is not here among Regolith’s memories, I’d be quite surprised.”
“Regolith?” Geppetto asked. “Who is Regolith?”
Maestro made an impatient flutter from Geppetto’s shoulder.
Chief Muckamire said, “Why, Master Geppetto, surely you know…” But then the gnome shook his head. “Forgive me. I forget that much about Abaton must still be unfamiliar to you.” He waved a small hand to the tiered city surrounding them. “The city of Grootslang Hole was bu
ilt on the spot where the primordial giant Regolith descended beneath Abaton in the earliest days.”
“Have you ever seen Regolith?” Geppetto asked.
“Oh, no!” the gnome said with an emphatic wag of his beard. “We’d never dare interrupt his slumber. But like the Deep One who guards our shores, each of the primordials protects Abaton in a different way. Prester John gave Regolith Abaton’s deepest memories to guard.”
Pinocchio wanted to ask what the other two guarded, but already Chief Muckamire was continuing. “Our libraries are filled with books written by gnomish seer-scribes recording Regolith’s vast memories. So if the answer to your question has been documented, Prester Lazuli, it will be here.”
“We appreciate any help you might provide, Chief Muckamire,” Lazuli said.
The gnome lord gave her an anxious glance. “Of course, I’m sure you can appreciate that the task might be quite difficult. As I said, Regolith’s memories are vast, and truthfully our libraries only reflect a fraction of what the primordial himself knows. But we will do our best. And as quickly as gnomishly possible, Your Majesty.”
“I’ll be happy to help,” Geppetto said, “if that’s quite all right.”
Pinocchio suspected his father was hoping to find more than just the answer to why the monsters were waking.
“Certainly, Master Geppetto. We’d welcome it,” the gnome said. “We can begin as soon as I show our presters to their chambers.”
Pinocchio frowned. Mezmer and Sop were off exploring the city. His father would disappear with the gnomes in the libraries for who knew how long.
“What are we going to do?” Pinocchio asked Lazuli.
Her eyes were narrowed in thought. “I’ll need to contact my aunt to discuss what she and the other high nobles are doing to defend against continued attacks.”
Pinocchio sighed. “What I am supposed to do, then?”
“I don’t know,” she said distractedly. “Discuss archery with Rion.”
Rion drew up straighter. “Have you ever thrown a sylph lasso, Your Majesty? I placed first in last summer’s Galetide Games.” He gave a wink. “I’ll show you my secret technique.”
Pinocchio gave an appreciative nod, but couldn’t help but think everyone had something important to do but him.
“Even if every gnome in Grootslang Hole were searching the libraries, it could take weeks. Months, even.” Aunt Sapphira shook her head from the small mirror in Lazuli’s hand. The glowing glass bathed the otherwise windowless chambers around Lazuli in blue light.
“I know, Aunt,” Lazuli said. “But we need to discover how to get them back to sleep once we reach the prison.”
Sapphira pursed her lips, as if she were trying to be patient with her niece despite the urgency of the situation. “Let me remind you that you are the prester. Your subjects expect you to present confidence. If Chief Muckamire sees you as weak, it might not be long before others begin to doubt their presters’ abilities.”
“We simply asked for help,” Lazuli said. “Was I wrong—?”
“Prester Pinocchio has the Pearl,” Sapphira said from the mirror. “You assured me you’d be able to guide him in using it to stop this threat. I understand your concerns, but there are times for action. Your people need you to act swiftly, my niece and prester. Reach the prison before more of Diamancer’s forces escape.”
Lazuli took a deep breath, hoping her face looked more confident than her shaky hands felt.
Sapphira gave a nod. “You are in good hands with Rion. He’s the finest archer in the Mist Cities. A real knight.”
Lazuli felt a knot of annoyance at her aunt’s jab at Mezmer and Sop.
“Be assured,” her aunt continued, “I am taking care of the coordination with Dr. Nundrum and the other high nobles to protect against future attacks. As we speak, we’re moving those in the most vulnerable townships into the safety of the elemental cities. Your focus needs to be on the prison.”
“Yes, Aunt,” Lazuli said. “Thank you.”
The mirror dimmed to black. Lazuli sat holding it a moment longer. She dreaded the thought of going into the prison without a way to stop these monsters that didn’t require Pinocchio using the Pearl. But what was she to do?
She rubbed her throbbing temples and stood up. She stepped out from her room into the antechamber. Rion sprang to his feet from one of the small, stone chairs set against the walls. She’d forgotten he’d be standing guard out there. Couldn’t she have a moment’s peace to think?
He jabbed a thumb at the chair. “You’ve got to hand it to the gnomes. They make the most amazingly uncomfortable furniture.”
Chief Muckamire’s palace was underground, driven deep into the earth about halfway down the ringed city. Unlike the airy, light-filled Moonlit Court, the gnomes preferred darkness and claustrophobically small spaces. And they clearly preferred every furnishing to be made of stone, most emblazoned with jewels to a stupendous degree.
Lazuli was tired of thinking and tired of being on her feet. She went to the chair and slumped down. “Oh, you’re right. That’s terrible.” She gave a small laugh. It felt good to laugh after the head-throbbing conversation with her aunt.
“Where’s Prester Pinocchio?” she asked.
Rion sat next to her. “He went back upstairs to his chambers to practice tying lassos. He’s got a promising throw. I suppose you got in touch with Lady Sapphira?”
“Yes.” She rubbed her temples.
“Your aunt is quite extraordinary,” Rion said. “Clever. Determined. All the people of Abaton respect her.” He looked over at Lazuli. “You’re quite like her, Your Majesty.”
“Thank you, Rion,” Lazuli said.
He smiled. “And quite like your father too, I’d say.”
Her head only seemed to ache worse at the mention of His Great Lordship Prester John. “My father made ruling Abaton seem so effortless,” Lazuli murmured. “I wish he were here. I wish he could tell me what to do.”
Rion sat up straighter. “You’re doing splendidly. Really, you are. Besides, you can’t be expected to rule as he did. And you will lead us through this crisis. Not as he would have done. But in your own way.”
Lazuli wished that were true. But she was grateful for Rion’s assurances.
“May I ask something, Your Majesty?” Rion said. “About your father?”
“I suppose,” she said.
Rion seemed to consider his words before he spoke. “Why did he give the rule of Abaton to both you and Prester Pinocchio? Are you betrothed?”
Lazuli burst out in laughter. She tried to cover her mouth, hoping it would cover the color flushing into her face. “Pinocchio and I married? No, we rule together, but…as friends. My father thought it best that we share the responsibility.”
Lazuli couldn’t help but think that somehow she took on more of the responsibility, but that was how things were—how they had to be.
Rion gave an awkward smile, blinking away his embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s quite all right,” Lazuli said.
“But…” Rion furrowed his brow. “If I understand correctly, he gave the possession of the Ancientmost Pearl to Prester Pinocchio. Not to you.”
Lazuli grew quiet. The throbbing in her head seemed to have stopped, only to be replaced by a tension that ran through her entire body.
“I don’t mean to question His Great Lordship,” Rion said. “But would it not have made more sense for you to have been given the Ancientmost Pearl?”
Things would have been so much easier if Pinocchio had been an ordinary boy. But if he had been an ordinary boy, they might never have become friends, might never have kept the Pearl from falling into the hands of the doge, might never have reached Abaton. Still, Rion’s words stung with a needle of truth.
She began to sit up. “I don’t think we should be discussing—”
Rion got to his feet. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I have overstepped my bounds. I would never speak ill of Prester Pinocchio
. Our hope for saving Abaton lies in his command of the Ancientmost Pearl. I only meant to say that, like your aunt, you’re enormously respected by your people. If you but had the Pearl, I’m sure you—”
“That’s quite enough, Rion!” she said sharply.
Pinocchio stepped in from the hallway. “What’s quite enough?” He had a long coil of rope in his hands.
Rion cast his eyes to the floor.
“Nothing,” Lazuli said, turning toward her chamber.
“Wait!” Pinocchio said. “Where are you going?”
“Nowhere.”
Pinocchio’s eyes flashed excitedly from Lazuli to Rion. “Then follow me.”
Rion stepped to attention. “Where to, Your Majesty?”
“You’ll see.” Pinocchio handed Rion the rope and hurried down the hallway. Rion drew up his shoulders and marched after him.
Lazuli fell in behind. Her heart was still racing, and she wondered if she should apologize to Rion. It was her own fault. She was his prester, and she’d forgotten to act like a proper prester in front of him. All their laughing and chumming around about pixie eggs and bad gnomish furniture. She could almost hear her aunt tsking in her ear.
But what really bothered Lazuli wasn’t that Rion had spoken too personally with his prester. It was that he had spoken honestly. And his words scared her. How much longer could they keep Pinocchio’s secret if even one of their own knights was beginning to doubt him?
“Where are we going exactly, Your Majesty?” Rion asked Pinocchio as they stepped out the front doors of the palace.
Despite being midway down the tiered enclosure of a city, the boulevard was blindingly bright after the shadowy interior of the palace. On several of the curved streets opposite the palace, Lazuli noticed tents being erected. She wondered if they were to house evacuees who were coming to Grootslang Hole seeking protection.
Pinocchio pointed to the great shaft running through the interior of the city. “Down to the lowest street.”
Rion furrowed his brow uncertainly. “General Mezmer asked me to watch over you and Prester Lazuli.”
“And you will,” Pinocchio said.
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