The great scarlet things cast them all in shade and kicked up warm winds as he flapped them once, twice, and lifted uncertainly into the air. Ell choked, tears welling in his eyes.
“Did you know I could fly, September? I can! I can!” The Wyverary soared up, whooping, spitting joyful fire into the clouds.
“Oh, I did know, Ell,” September whispered as her friend looped and did somersaults in the sky. “I did.”
September looked down at the Key, finally. Her Key, with which she had unlocked the puzzle of the world. It basked in her gaze.
“Have you followed me all this way?” she gasped.
It spun around, terribly pleased.
“Oh, Key, how extraordinary!”
The Key thought it might die of the sound of her voice. September gathered it up in her hand, and it felt it must die all over again, for the touch of her fingers.
“Will you do something for me?”
It would do anything, of course it would.
“Go and unlock the others. All over Fairyland, everyone chained and unable to fly freely. When you’re done, it will be spring and time for me to come back, and then we shall not be parted again, and you shall ride on my lapel, and we will share jokes in the moonlight and look very fine on parade.”
It bowed to her, not a little puffed up. Then the Key rose up and flew away out of sight, twinkling like a tiny star.
“It’s almost time,” said the Green Wind gently. The wine-colored sand was nearly spent.
“I understand now,” September said ruefully.
“What?” said Saturday.
“What the sign meant. To lose your heart. When I go home, I shall leave mine here, and I don’t think I shall ever have it back.”
“I will keep it safe for you,” Saturday whispered, barely brave enough to say it.
“Will you see the witch Goodbye gets her Spoon, Green?”
“Of course, my lambswool.”
“And you’ll show Gleam Pandemonium and the sea and the highwheels and all sorts of things, Ell? Like she wanted, to see the world.”
Above them, the Wyverary laughed. “If the Library gives me weekend liberty, I shall!”
The orange lantern bounced and shone.
September turned to Saturday.
“Did you see her?” the Marid said nervously, looking at her with great dark eyes. “Our daughter. Standing on the Gear. Did you see her?”
“What?” said September—and then she winked out, like someone blowing out a candle, and all the field was still.
CHAPTER XXII
RAVISHED MEANS YOU CANNOT STAY
In Which September Returns Home
Evening was just beginning to peep through the windows of September’s little house, glowing blue and rose. September found herself at the kitchen sink, with her hands deep in soapy water that had long gone cold, a pink-and-yellow teacup still clutched in her hand. Behind her, a small, amiable dog yapped away at nothing. September looked down—her lonely mary jane, which had missed all the adventures, lay cast off and forgotten on the parquet floor. Her feet were bare.
“Mama won’t be home yet!” she said suddenly. “Oh, how glad I shall be to see her!”