The picture ceased moving.

Stubborn latches held the window closed, but Diamond managed to open them and pull the glass into the cabin far enough that his head and neck could fit into the gap. Then the picture began to move again. Birds had voices and the nearest airships moved with engine sounds, but far more impressive, Diamond found his nose full of rich flowery stinks and rain smells and an aroma that was like an animal, only it wasn’t.

Diamond eased his healed hand through the opening.

Out from the bright air, an insect’s limb emerged—jointed shells ending with a collection of hard dry fingers.

Those fingers reached for his hand.

Diamond pulled back.

Then the Ghost touched him on the face, so lightly and so carefully that the sensation seemed to fall short of being real. And the creature had a soft quick voice, not human or anything else.

“Quest,” it said.

“What?”

“My name is Quest.”

Diamond asked, “Why?”

“The word suits me,” it said.

The boy wasn’t sure what to think, and he tried to empty his head.

“Do you remember before?” Quest asked.

“Before?”

“Before this world.”

“Maybe,” said Diamond. Then he pushed his hand and arm deeper into the picture of the Corona District. Fingertips found a curved surface, warm and dry. The insides of a huge empty snail shell felt this way.

“I like to watch you,” said Quest.

Diamond’s hand returned to the cabin.

“I make eyes like you make hair,” said Quest. “I watch Creation.”

“If I could grow more eyes, I would,” said the boy.

There were clicking noises that sounded happy, or it was just clicking.

“We’re brothers,” Diamond ventured.

“I’m female,” said Quest, her insect hand retreating.

“Oh.”

“You and King are male.”

Diamond was surrounded by Quest, and the air was growing stale. He pulled his head back inside but left the window open.

“I watch everything,” his companion repeated.

One question begged to be asked, but Diamond didn’t speak quickly enough.

“You were taken from the corona before I was,” Quest said.

“Who took you?”

“A tree-walker,” she said.

“Which one?”

The scene dissolved into gray light, and then a simple image was drawn on the grayness. One man’s face appeared, sturdy and unfamiliar. It would take some thought, but Diamond said his first impression. “I don’t know your father.”

“He’s not my father,” she said.

He started to ask.

“He’s a thief,” she said. “Thieves like to steal from the corona kills. He was dressed like a slayer when he stepped inside the stomach. Three of us were still there. The man saw your father take you, and then he went inside. He picked up King first and could have taken him. He wished that he would have. But I was the smallest, the easiest to hide, and he carried me to his home.”

“Where is that?”

“He lives in the wilderness.”

“When did you leave him?”

“I can’t leave him,” she said.

“I don’t understand,” Diamond said.

“I shared his house for three hundred and fifty-seven days,” said Quest. “Every sight remains seen, every moment keeps living. What is part of me cannot be left behind.”

Diamond was exhausted, baffled. Meanwhile Good remained under the cot, and the papio were still shouting in distant parts of the ship. Bountiful was pushing toward some important destination, and night might hold tight for a very long while. More questions begged to be asked but the boy said nothing, carefully remembering each one of his questions.

“I lived inside a strong cage made of steel and corona parts,” Quest said. “The thief fed me good foods, and some bad foods, and he gave me water. I learned to how to shape myself while I grew, and then I stopped growing. He wanted me to be large and important. So I stayed small and ugly.”

“But you got out of his cage,” said Diamond.

Quest made a clicking noise, perhaps agreeing.

“Before,” said the boy. “What were you showing me before?”

The thief’s face melted back into the gray, and the gray became trees again. The trickery was extraordinary, almost frightening. Diamond looked out at the scene, feeling small, and in ways he had never imagined, he felt foolish.

This was two days ago, he guessed.

The bird sounds melted away. The airships turned silent, and not so much as a whisper of wind could be heard. Then a distant voice, human and unfamiliar, came from deep inside the Corona District.

“Now now now,” the faraway man shouted. “We have to get out of here!”

Diamond had no weight, and he wasn’t breathing anymore.

Then the explosions came, muted to keep the papio from hearing them. The trees fell exactly as they did before, and Diamond wrapped his arms tight around his chest, waiting to feel sick and miserable. But the strongest emotion was anger, slippery and chaotic. He wasn’t certain where the rage was pointed, but the next words jabbed in an unexpected direction.

“I hate that man who stole you,” Diamond said.

The grayness came again, and silence.

“You’re hiding from the thief now,” he guessed.

The voice became more female, and it sounded young. “I cannot hide, and he cannot find me.”

“Because you’re a ghost,” Diamond guessed.

“Because he is the ghost,” she said. “The moment I escaped from the cage, I said his name. I said it nicely, and when he looked at me, I killed him.”

Diamond’s arms dropped.

“I am killing him now and always will be,” Quest said. “But I never ate any portion of his body. I would have enjoyed crunching one of his fists or a foot. But in my life, I have done nothing smarter than killing that brutal man and then flying away from the urge to eat him whole.”

A papio was hurrying down the hallway. Merit felt the floor dip under the soldier’s weight, and then the soldier stopped, calling a name through the door.

The woman soldier wore that name. She looked alert until she stood up, and then fatigue took hold. Her thin pink beard was holding crumbs from the last rations, and the tattoo on the forehead—a blood-and-bone whiffbird—needed to be washed.

The papio said a second name.

“Deserve” was a poor papio translation for Merit’s name.

“I need him. Let him out,” the man said.

The disruption was a bother. Bountiful had finally fallen quiet. The prisoners had dropped their heads on the tables, sleeping or pretending to sleep. But now the faces were lifting, secretive conversations beginning all over again. Merit rose with the first prompting. The woman put a hand on her steel-and-coral pistol, opening the galley door with the other hand. To somebody, Merit or her colleagues or maybe herself, she said, “Long long night.”

The papio waiting in the hallway didn’t know Merit, but he was under strict orders to treat the boy’s father with dignity. “I would be honored if you would help us,” he said, the half-learned words dribbling out. “A problem requires an expert.”

“What have you done to our ship?” Merit asked.

“An accident needs a repairman,” said the papio. “You may pick which one.”

Merit looked back into the room.

“Fret,” he said.

Unease and pain didn’t need translation. The dead man’s name caused the crew to look at the tabletops and their own hands, and then an older man got to his feet. Dressed in blue, he clicked his heels, saying, “Fret reporting.”

“Come with me,” said Merit.

The mechanic joined them in the hallway, and the galley door was closed again.

“A bladder is leaking,” said the papio.

In reflex, the tree-walkers took deep breaths.

“I don’t smell anything,” the mechanic said.

“It’s a small leak, far above. And maybe our noses are more sensitive to the stink you give the hydrogen.”

Two of them started to walk.

Merit didn’t move.

The papio turned. “What?” he began.