“Neel is someplace warm and sunny. Not here.” Petra tried not to care. Why should you miss someone you will never see again? It wasn’t fair. Feelings like guilt and anxiety and missing people should have a certain life span. Like fruit flies.

“But perhaps—” Astrophil continued.

“Astrophil? You know what’s so great about books?”

“Why, many things. I am so glad you asked. They possess many wonderful properties. They awaken the imagination, inform one about history—”

“And they close. Like this subject. I don’t want to talk about John Dee. He threatened my father and me, and made me destroy the clock’s magical power, all for the sake of his precious English queen.”

“You would have done that anyway, once you knew the havoc the clock could wreak.”

“Maybe, but John Dee got to sit snug in his little velvet chair, doing nothing to risk his neck while you, Neel, and I could have gotten caught and killed. Dee’s always looking out for his best interests, and any help from him would come with so many strings attached I’d be tied up like a trussed pig. I don’t want anything more to do with Dee, or to even think about him.”

Astrophil’s green eyes glowed with frustration. But he knew Petra. It would be easier to coax a stone to grow into a flower than it would be to make her listen to an idea she hated. “Very well. Shall we begin by running through a series of positions? I have consulted several books on sword-fighting. This took me some time because most of them were written in Italian, but I have translated several passages.”

“Let’s just do what we’ve been doing for weeks.”

“Would that be: I watch while you slash at the air until you are tired?”

“Yes.”

Astrophil sighed. “You could at least comment on how well my knowledge of Italian is progressing.”

“Bravo,” Petra said, and crouched. She felt ridiculous, shuffling back and forth over the snow and swinging the invisible sword. But she did it anyway.

“You can grip that hilt with both hands,” said a voice behind her.

Petra spun around.

Mikal Kronos stepped forward. “You’re letting your left hand dangle at your side. That’s a waste. This sword is thin and light, like a rapier, but not as long as one. I thought a true rapier would be too long to keep unnoticed when sheathed. Of course, even an invisible sword isn’t easy to hide. But if you’re going to forge one, you obviously have some interest in secrecy, so why not do what you can to maximize that?

“Now, what did I want to tell you? Ah, yes, the left hand. Since the blade is on the short side, your ability to thrust it at your opponent is limited. Your reach is limited. So that means that you need to compensate by learning how to use your left hand, too. With that hand you can hold a dagger, and use it to block blows and swipe at your opponent. What happens if your dagger is knocked away? There’s room enough for your left hand as well as your right on this hilt. That will give your blows more force. Do you feel the swirls of steel arcing over the hilt? That’s to protect your fingers, in case someone tries to make you drop the sword by hacking at them. Remember that a master of fencing should be able to wield a sword just as well with the left hand as with the right. If you let your left arm stick out uselessly like a tree branch, it will get lopped off like one.”

Petra stared. She had often wondered what would happen if her father ever caught her with the sword he had made and hidden away. Usually, she imagined a lot of yelling. Not this.

Mikal Kronos noticed her surprise. “I thought carefully about how to craft a sword that would work best for you.”

“You really made it for me?”

He nodded. “You’re a tall girl, Petra, and quick. But slender. The sword had to be light enough for you to wield easily. That”—he tapped the invisible sword and it rang like a bell—“is made with crucible steel. It has a hard spine yet also enough spring to absorb shocks. It won’t break. This blade is double-edged, which gives you the freedom to cut from many directions as well as thrust at your opponent with the sword’s point. This sword is meant to do damage, Petra, and I mean for you to do damage against anyone who tries to hurt you. Anyone.”

These words were so unlike Petra’s gentle father, who always shook a log free of beetles before placing it on a fire. “How do you know so much about swords?”

“Now, really, Petra,” said Astrophil. “Where do you think I found books on fencing? Where else but Master Kronos’s library?”

“But, Father, you never told me you know how to fence.”

“I don’t. I only know the principles. You have to know the basics of fencing in order to forge a sword.” He hesitated, and then said exactly what Petra hoped he wouldn’t: “If you were able to go to the Academy, you would be taught how to use a sword properly.”

Petra gritted her teeth. This argument wasn’t old, but it felt that way. “Well, I can’t go to the Academy. And I don’t want to. You never even asked me if I wanted to.” The Academy was a school for magic that admitted only children of high society, not lowly villagers like her. Petra’s father had hoped, however, that an exception would be made in her case, and that is why he had agreed to build the prince’s clock.

“Petra, you should have the opportunities I didn’t. You’ve been gifted with a magical ability. If you learned how to use it, you could be better than I am—”

“No, I couldn’t!” she burst out. “I can’t do anything!”

That is not true, Astrophil spoke silently in her mind.

“Talking with Astro the way you do doesn’t count, Father. I don’t have your talent. I can’t make metal move just by thinking about it. You know that. We’ve been practicing for weeks.”

“You are still young. It may take some time.”

“I’m not that young. I’m thirteen. Tomik made his first Marvel when he was my age.” Petra pressed her point, even though she hoped to be proven wrong. “In Prague, I thought that maybe . . . that maybe I was more talented than I am. Astrophil and I could talk without opening our mouths. When I picked up a knife, I thought I could feel it inside my mind. But that was my imagination.”

“You broke the clock’s heart.”

“That was dumb luck.”

“You can communicate with Astrophil.”

“But that’s all. If I inherited anything from you, it was just some watered-down version of your magic. Nothing to get excited about. Nothing worth sending someone to the Academy for. I probably wouldn’t pass the entrance test, even if I were allowed to take it.” Saying this somehow stole all of Petra’s anger. Now she felt only cold and wet.

“Come here,” her father said, and hugged her. “You’re shivering. Let’s go home, Petra. We’ll start a fire and warm some milk over it. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

WHEN PETRA and her father reached the Sign of the Compass, it had stopped raining and they were laughing at Astrophil as he tried to imitate a human sneeze.

They didn’t see the sparrow leap from the roof. Astrophil spotted the bird before the others did and hid in Petra’s hair.

The bird dived at them, stopping right in front of Petra’s face. It hovered, screeching.

Astrophil, boomed a voice in the spider’s head.

Master Kronos? Astrophil jumped in surprise.

Keep still. Don’t let Petra know we’re having this conversation.

But why?

Do you remember what we discussed?

Astrophil paused. Yes.

Good. Then go along with whatever I tell Petra to do. See that she does it.

Surely there is no cause for alarm.

Yes, there is, insisted Mikal Kronos. The sparrow.

Nonsense. If the bird poses a threat to anyone, it is to me. It wants to eat me!

No, Astrophil. Something is wrong. It is trying to warn us.

The spider had a sinking feeling in his tin stomach. You are making far too much of the bizarre flight pattern of one bird.

Maybe so. But I can’t take the risk.

If this is a warning of some kind—and I do not agree that it is—will you not be in danger as well?

Astrophil, you gave me your word. Keep it.

“What’s wrong with that sparrow?” Petra stared at the bird as it darted back and forth.

“Nothing,” said Astrophil. “Or, hmm, well, I expect it has mad dog disease.”

“Mad dog disease affects dogs, Astro.”

“Petra,” her father interrupted, “I need you to deliver something to Tomas Stakan. There’s a tin sheet leaning against the wall in the shop. Bring it to the Sign of Fire.”

“Sure. I’ll just change my clothes first. I’m soaking wet.”

“No. Take it to Tomas now.”

Petra was puzzled by her father’s stern expression. “Can’t it wait until later?”

“Can’t you just do as I ask?” he snapped. “For once in your life, do as I tell you!”

Petra felt as if she had been slapped. “Fine!” she shouted. She stalked into the shop.

The bird flew after her, but the shop door slammed shut, the bell jangling. The bird flapped outside the closed door, which soon burst open again. Petra gripped the tin sheet under her arm.

“Goodbye, Petra,” Mikal Kronos said in a softened voice. Although the sword he had forged was invisible, he could tell that it was still buckled around Petra’s waist. He tried not to show his relief. He tried not to show anything that would keep Petra at the Sign of the Compass.

Petra’s lips thinned into a line. She whipped around and strode toward the village. Astrophil rode on her shoulder, gazing back at Master Kronos.

The bird landed on the melting snow and watched Petra storm off. Then it hopped toward Mikal. It cocked its head, scrutinizing the man. It couldn’t be sure, but it thought that its message had been received, even if the man was behaving very strangely. But then, the bird never understood humans, who saved food rather than eating it right away, and whose nests were closed to the sky.

Mikal Kronos went inside the house, returning with a slice of old bread and a dish filled with water. He set the bowl on the ground, crumbled the bread onto the snow, and then walked around to the back of the house. He took a stool from the smithy. He brought it back to where the bird perched at the edge of the bowl, drinking deeply and flipping back its wings. Master Kronos placed the stool beneath the wooden sign with its many-pointed compass, hoping that if the prince seized him, he might not try to find Petra. Mikal sat down to wait.

3

The Sign of Fire

BEFORE PETRA had reached the edge of the village, she wanted to go back and apologize. Why had she overreacted? If her father was angry with her, could she blame him? They were leaving the village he had lived in all of his life. Who was responsible for that, if not she?

She turned around.

Astrophil pinched her ear.

“Ow! Astrophil!”

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“Why? That is not what your father asked you to do!”

“Master Stakan can’t need the tin sheet so badly that he won’t be able to wait fifteen minutes more. I just . . . I want to tell Father I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so . . . sulky.”

“But sulking is a great talent of yours. You should practice it. You should continue to sulk.”

“Astrophil, are you trying to be funny?”

“I simply do not see what is to be gained by ruining such a dramatic exit as the one you just made. To return to the Sign of the Compass now, well . . . it would not be artistic. A heroine in a novel would never turn back at this point.”

“Will you quit pinching my ear? That hurts!”

“Very well.” Astrophil leaped to the ground. “I shall go to the Sign of Fire alone. I would like to see Tomik. He is a very intelligent conversationalist. And Atalanta! What a charming dog!”

“You always complain that she tries to drown you with her slobber.”

“Yes. Well. I am merely being affectionate when I say that.”

“All right. Go on ahead. I’ll meet you there soon.”

Astrophil tried one last thing. He tried being honest, or close enough to it. “Petra,” he said, “if you truly wish to make your father happy, you should do as he asks right away.”

She paused. “You really think so?”

“I do.”

“Hop on my shoulder, then. You’re getting muddy.”

Relieved, Astrophil shot a web to her shoulder and quickly pulled himself up the glittering line.

“A JOURNEYMAN!” Mila Stakan had said when she first saw Tomik pin the badge to his tough leather work apron. “You’re all grown up. And look how that badge brings out the blue in your eyes!”

“Mother, please,” he protested. “It’s just a badge.”

“You know better than that,” she said. “It’s everything it represents.”

That had been several weeks ago, the day after his Coming of Age ceremony. The ceremony had taken place on his fourteenth birthday, when Tomik legally became an adult. He was supposed to have certain rights now: he could buy property, attend university, and marry. He had thought he would feel different, but the truth was that nothing had changed. He had no money to buy land. The only university he wanted to enter was the Academy, which was impossible. And no fourteen-year-old he’d ever heard of actually got married. The idea of marriage seemed far-off and foreign, something for people years older than he was.

But at least Tomik had been promoted from being his father’s apprentice. He was now a journeyman. The blue badge stitched with red flame had been Master Stakan’s birthday gift to his son.