“If you could fly, this would be easier, but if you could fly, we wouldn’t be here, so I suppose we’ll work with what we have,” said the Crow Girl. “On you go!”
Avery and Zib moved closer together, Zib’s hand still holding tight to one of his. Without a word or a glance between them, they began walking.
The protectorate of the Queen of Swords was beautiful: of that there could be no question. Birds circled overhead, and other shapes that were almost birds but not quite. Avery squinted and thought they might be dragons, or winged people, soaring on currents he was too far down to feel. The Crow Girl’s comments about flight seemed more reasonable than they had before he saw that, and he shivered.
All around them were rolling hills and trees with high, straight branches, perfect for climbing or for roosting in. As he thought that, two things happened at essentially the same time, so that no matter which we mention first, we are getting something out of order. So:
What he had first taken to be a particularly low cloud, snuggled tight against the trunk of one of the tall roosting trees, stirred itself, opened eyes as startlingly blue as a summer afternoon, and spread its wings, revealing itself to be a snowy owl the same impossible size as Meadowsweet. It launched itself into the air, gliding silently over the improbable road, circling the trio twice before setting down in front of them, and:
The improbable road, which had never been a straight line—had always been a curving, twisting thing, like a length of ribbon thrown carelessly down across the landscape, making its own way, setting its own standard, as suited a thing that was almost entirely an idea—abruptly forked. To the left, it twisted its way into another deep tangle of briars, each one equipped with thorns as long and viciously sharp as hatpins. To the right, it wound its way through an orchard of low, orange-leafed trees, their branches heavy with unfamiliar fruits, their roots growing with such wild abandon that they broke through the brick and turned the already-treacherous road even more so.
Avery found that he was no longer impressed by owls larger than owls had any reason to be. At least this one was a color he was accustomed to seeing on owls, and not pink, or purple, or a vivid green. The fork in the road was much more of a concern.
“Hello,” said Zib, to the owl.
The Crow Girl rolled her eyes. “Ugh. Broom. What are you doing here?”
“The same as I ever am,” said the owl, and it was no longer strange to hear an owl speak: clearly, that was what owls did in the Up-and-Under. “Warning travelers to be careful with their choices, and keeping watch over children who are out past their bedtimes. Children.” The owl turned its head, regarding Avery and Zib with enormous amber eyes. If Meadowsweet’s gaze had been like entering a staring contest with Halloween, this was like looking into a treasured jack-o-lantern, seeing all the wonders of a wild, wonderful night reflected in the candle’s glare.
Broom’s voice was soft and kind. Zib thought immediately of her father, who had never once raised his voice in anger, not even when the children on his bus were naughty beyond all reasonable measure. Avery thought of his math tutor, who always tried his best, despite Avery’s hopelessness with more advanced concepts. Both of them found that they trusted the owl, which was a nice change, given how many other things they had found and failed to trust since arriving in the Up-and-Under.
“You are out past your bedtime and before your bedtime and until bedtime ceases to have any meaning whatsoever,” said Broom. “Why have you done this? Why have you come here?”
“Oh shush, you flying mop,” said the Crow Girl. “I have them in hand. I’ll get them to the City, you watch and see.”
“Are you sure that’s where you’re taking them?” asked Broom, his head swiveling back to face the Crow Girl.
She bristled—literally bristled, the feathers of her dress lifting and puffing out, until she looked as though she were wearing a long shirt three sizes too big for her. “We’re on the improbable road!” she protested. “If I were planning to delay, betray, take them the wrong way, we wouldn’t be on the road. The road wouldn’t let us be.”
“You might not know,” said Broom, and again, his voice was gentle. He turned back to Avery and Zib. “Do you have Crow Girls where you come from?”
Silent, they shook their heads.
“Crow Girls serve two masters. They’re made by the Queen of Swords, because she can’t stand things that don’t belong to her, but she’s fickle, and she doesn’t like the mischief they get up to when she’s not keeping an active eye on them. So she gives them away, to someone whose name I won’t say, because that person listens to the owls, that person hates and remembers us, and if she hears her name on my beak, she’ll come for you for no reason other than to spite me. Even a Crow Girl who thinks she’s doing the right thing can betray you because her other master tells her to.”
Avery blinked slowly. Then he turned to the Crow Girl. “Is it true?” he asked.
Her feathers lost their puff and drooped, sleeking back down as she slumped. “It is,” she admitted. “I didn’t know. When the Queen of Swords said she could set me free, she didn’t tell me there was a cage on the other end. She didn’t say she’d wrap me in tangles and hand all their ends to a bad person. The Queen likes to own things.
