Crossing his arms, squeezing his chest, Seldom said, “Diamond is our friend.”

“I know.”

“Diamond’s my best friend,” he said.

“Not mine,” she said.

The air had changed temperature. Diamond couldn’t tell if it was colder or warmer, but there was a difference.

She said, “You’re my best friend, Seldom. Diamond is second.”

The boy had to smile, but he didn’t seem to like the happiness.

Diamond wanted to talk, and so he said, “Maybe.”

His friends looked at him, waiting.

“Maybe you’re here so I can take care of you,” he said.

Elata made a scornful face, considering those words.

“Maybe,” said Seldom, without conviction.

Yet if that were true, then Diamond should accomplish some good act. But nothing could be done or said that seemed beneficial, and those thoughts put him back into a gray sorry place.

Then Good let loose with a wild celebratory hoot.

Out in the wilderness, myriad monkeys returned the call.

Dropping to all fours, Good sprinted back to the children, saying, “Old man back.”

The little airship climbed into view, chasing them through the trees.

Nissim was awake again.

The children stood.

The little airship revved its engine and then slowed again, aiming for Bountiful’s door. Mr. Fret nearly clipped his right wing as he slid onboard.

Father was out and walking before the airship was restrained. It was important to give his son a smile and nod, and then he asked a pair of mechanics, “Why aren’t you gone? These woods are clear as glass.”

Nobody answered. A captain’s decisions didn’t need defending.

Tar`ro got to his feet, but the Master remained seated. From the chair, he asked, “What did Prima say?”

Blood lit up Father’s face. He intended to answer, or perhaps he had a different subject in mind. Diamond never learned what words would come next.

The man hesitated.

His head tipped on its side, eyes nearly closed. “Cut your engine, Fret,” he shouted.

The engine was rattling and spitting stink, and then it was quieter, the propeller taking its time spinning down.

Bountiful’s engines continued pushing, but a sharper second noise was closing.

Tar`ro stared at the floor, and getting to his feet, Nissim looked at the ceiling, nodding without comment.

The crew began racing each other around the shop.

Holding his gun by its handles, the harpooner was taking aim at something that nobody else could see, something that was moving.

“Tell the captain,” Merit yelled.

But the captain already knew. Bountiful’s main engines came awake, driving as hard as possible, and the floor was rising beneath them, pushing at Diamond’s legs as various alarms began to screech. Yet those noises were nothing compared to the burly wrenching roar that lifted another ship into view. Narrow through its body and bristling with propellers set at odd angles, the newcomer looked like strange bird—a giant bird with a glass body and a belly full of papio.

The papio looked through the Bountiful’s open door, staring at the tree-walkers. Their faces were made from long jaws and long yellow teeth with candy-bright red gums, and their smiles were very much like Good’s smile. And everything in view seemed to make them exceptionally happy.

“ ‘A wind moves all leaves but one,’ ” her father liked to quote. “ ‘And which leaf does the eye notice?’ ”

Prima was the motionless leaf, and the forest was being thrashed by the gale.

“The central fleet’s gathering inside the Hole, madam,” said Sondaw.

“The Hole” was the District’s gaping wound, and everyone had embraced that grossly inadequate name.

“They found a working call-line,” the Lieutenant continued. “Your colleague’s at the other end, and he wants to speak to you, madam.”

“Is it secure?”

“The line is civilian,” the young man said.

“Not secure, in other words.”

Sondaw saw the problem in its simplest terms. “Two people can discuss quite a lot, if they know and accept that limitation. If neither of you mentions troop displacements or timetables, of course.”

The little office was crowded with uniforms. Every high-ranking soldier made approving noise about the lieutenant’s assessment.

She cut off discussion with a slash of her hand.

When every eye was fixed on her, she said, “You don’t understand. List is not our priority. Our priority is to make ready for what comes next.”

Seeing her opportunity, another officer stepped forward. “Madam Archon. You wanted our resources and dispersals.”

“Show me.”

The young woman offered a thin stack of papers. Most of the Corona fleet was hiding in the nearby forest. “The District mobilization is complete,” she said. “Including ships lost in the attacks and the reservists who are presumed to have died before, we’re short eighteen percent of our total forces.”

“And we have our allies,” Prima said. “From other Districts, but not counting the behemoths inside the Hole.”

A second, far smaller stack was laid on top of the first.

The Archon nodded while reading. Two friendly Archons had sent important airships, particularly the neighboring District of Mists. The other five outliers had handed over control of certain commercial freighters. The Coronas had their own commercial fleet, plus the corona hunters, and those were just the easiest ways to milk promise out of these numbers and impressive names.

The audience stood at attention, but focuses were wavering.

She ignored them. The rest of the world had to vanish, nothing existing but an army of calculations battling for dominance.

The still leaf suddenly wasn’t quite still; her right hand began to tremble.

Noticing, Sondaw said, “Madam.”

“I need air,” she said. “I want to walk.”

People emptied into the narrow hallway. Critical orders had been promised, but the Archon was still not relinquishing details, much less goals.

Did she have any plans yet?

Prima walked beside the woman officer. “We sent two fletches after Merit,” she began.

“Yes, madam?”

“Not enough. Send another pair.”

In one fashion or another, every face was concerned.

Only one general was onboard, and he willingly rose to the bait. “I can’t help but notice, madam. You’re playing a very active role in these matters.”

“I am,” she said.

He said, “We are here to help you, Madam Archon.”

“And I’m not shy about asking for advice.” A massive locked door led into the Panoply’s belly. Looking back at her audience, she used a flat stern voice to ask, “Have we declared war?”

“No, madam,” the general allowed.

“Have the papio declared?”

The man sighed. “No.”

“Peacetime means that civilian leaders hold the first and last word in matters of defense. This is a good smart policy, perhaps. Or it’s a lousy, clumsy tradition that makes us slow and stupid. Either way, this is what every District does. Ours and List’s too, judging by my colleague’s prominent status in his fleet.”

Nobody spoke.

Looking at the woman officer, she said, “Send two more fletches from our ranks. And there’s a fast freighter, courtesy of the Bluetear District. It carries oversized fuel tanks, am I right? Load it up and send it too, as support for the mission.”

“Yes, madam,” the woman said.

“We need to find our friends,” she said.

“Of course, madam.”

“And we will find them, yes, madam,” the general muttered by instinct.

Once again, Prima looked at the papers in her hand. She knew every ship by its name and designation, its manpower and munitions, and that was a surprise. The fatigue that she expected hadn’t arrived. Yet the calm leaf didn’t want to read another word. That’s why she handed the papers to Sondaw. Then to no one in particular, she said, “We can’t allow Diamond to be delivered to the papio. Not much is certain, but that is. They don’t get the boy. And no cost is too great.”