He returned to his room exhausted. Before getting into bed, he slid his small table in front of the door. That way, if he dream walked again, the screech of the table against the floor would wake him if he tried to leave.
He crawled into bed and yanked up the sheets, his mother’s pencil still pressed firmly against him. His fingers curled tightly around it as he forced his eyes shut. Shivers and shakes ran through his body, but the blood had stopped, and his mind felt heavy with sleep.
Chapter 7
A WEEK went by, and Tahki did not dream walk again. His recollection of that night dimmed, and after a few days he’d convinced himself the whole incident had been fabricated due to stress.
Dyraien had brought him a present from town every day of the week: a new drafting table, reels of paper, a new kind of chair that swiveled from side to side—he really, really loved the chair—a set of pens, a new compass, several rulers, and lots of books. Most of the books were on architecture and inventions, but once he’d brought him a book of poems. Tahki had been surprised, but Dyraien said poetry allowed the mind to escape, and a brain at rest often produced the best ideas. Tahki tried to thank him, but Dyraien only smiled and said it was his pleasure, which made Tahki feel a little guilty he hadn’t come up with any ideas yet.
Tahki visited Sornjia early on the seventh day. “Did the paper come?”
“Not yet,” Sornjia said.
Tahki frowned. “It should be here by now.”
Sornjia stirred a pot of fish stew. “Tomorrow it will come, I’m sure.”
Gale sat at the table sipping tea and said, “If you’re not a prince, people don’t usually rush your order.”
“I’m sorry, Gale,” Tahki said. He thought she’d be furious.
“It has been nice,” she said, “having a helper. Don’t think my pistol collection ever looked so shiny.”
Sornjia smiled. He lifted a bowl of fish stew and handed it to Gale.
“You two are very different,” she said to Tahki, and shoveled in a mouthful of creamy stew. “Your brother is calm, compassionate, agreeable. You just complain a lot.”
“I don’t complain that much,” Tahki mumbled.
“Tahki is like a catapult,” Sornjia said. “He’s calm when left on his own, but if someone winds him up, that’s when he starts throwing stones.”
Sornjia’s comment made Tahki sound like an upset child, but something sparked in his mind when his brother spoke. He cradled the thought all the way back to the castle, mulling it over, drawing the lines in his head.
When he got to his room, he pulled out a book Dyraien had brought him titled The Woman Behind the Machine, an illustrated book about Adrinia Kov’kai, the current expert machinist who’d been responsible for the last seven great machine inventions. He forgot about dream walking, about the dark thing in his room, and for the first time in weeks, Tahki lost himself between thin black lines and carefully plotted points of perspective.
HE COMPLETED his floor plan around noon. Back home, he would have tucked his design out of sight for a week. It gave his brain a chance to reset and see the flaws. But he had a good feeling about this one. He’d created a twenty-foot launching mechanism that could be attached to the side of the castle and controlled from inside. It swiveled around the walls, so no matter what side someone attacked, the invention could be moved on a rail system.
With a smile, he gathered up his design and searched for Rye. It annoyed him he had to gain Rye’s approval before showing Dyraien, but a small part of him delighted at proving himself.
He found Rye in the stables mucking out gingoat stalls. The animals snorted when Tahki approached. Rye placed his hand on their snouts to calm them. He was covered in mud, and a thick earthy scent attached itself to him.
“That doesn’t look very fun,” Tahki said.
Rye shrugged. “Needs to be done.”
“Don’t you mind that Dyraien makes you clean up animal crap?”
“Dyraien doesn’t make me do anything,” he said. “And no, I don’t mind.”
Tahki approached one of the stalls. The gingoat nearest to him, a bulky beast with long white fur and black horns, snapped its flat teeth at him. He jerked back.
“If you show fear,” Rye said, “they won’t accept you.”
“I don’t need an animal’s approval.”
Rye petted its muzzle. “You sound like Dyraien.”
Tahki shifted his weight. “I have a completed floor plan. I’d like to show Dyraien before he leaves for town.”
Rye stepped out of the pen and frowned, like he’d already made up his mind not to like what he saw. Tahki bit his tongue to keep his temper down. Rye washed his arms in a trough and reached for the paper. His hands still looked filthy, and Tahki hesitated handing over the design.
Rye took it from him anyway. He looked over the plan in the same careful way he had at the fair. Then something lit up on his face. A kind of understanding or approval. Tahki could see it in his eyes: he liked the design.
Tahki repressed a smile and rubbed his left wrist. He focused on one of the gingoats. She stared back, big black eyes watching him like he planned on making dinner out of her. She snorted and turned her rear in his direction. Tahki scowled.
“This won’t work,” Rye said.
Tahki jerked his head up. “What?”
“It won’t work.” He handed the paper back.
“I’m positive it will,” Tahki said. “You can’t just take five seconds and
