Out of Reach

       No one cared to prolong the farewells. The King insisted on escorting us to the surface while riding on his soldier-servants' backs all the way to the “palace” exit. He had certainly acquired a taste for royalty. Good. My whispers about proper kingdoms and true subjects hadn’t been wasted. Out in the open, the Prince sketched another birdasthe most silent, contactless transport available. He vowed on behalf of anyone else to stay quiet until we cleared the stratosphere. The Hunter delicately mentioned his rifle. The red-marked sergeant rode the bird’s tail, determined to escort the trespassers to the safe zone where the weapon lay buried in a trench. When the bird landed on the yellow plateau, I casually asked if the Hunter had more paint pellets. He confirmed he had “enough for every bloody nuisance.” “What are you implying?” The Prince tensed. I didn’t answer. The remark wasn’t for him. The sergeant, however, slowed its pace, rubbing its antennae together. Let it ponder whether it wants competition now that the outsider with the “thunder-stick” could theoretically mark others too. With deliberate slowness, the sergeant sheared out a hardened resin cylinder from the trench and grudgingly handed it to the Hunter to peel it later elsewhere. The bugs then formed a silent honour guard, shepherding the bird through the danger zone back to our capture site. This time, the bird flew slower, letting them keep pace. The Hunter hung over the wing, sniffing loudly and pointing out our earlier trail. It passed the distinctive ridge, and I could only hope the Prince didn’t recognise its shape, but other concerns preoccupied him. Even at reduced speed, the journey dragged too long. B613 remained stubbornly absent from the horizon. Suddenly, the Hunter waved his hands almost in panic and gestured to the Prince to circle one spot. His frantic charades proved incomprehensible, and the Prince offered him the pencil and the notebook to write the. The Hunter scribbled, and since everyone sat pretty close on the bird’s back, I could see the text over his shoulder. “All tracks end here.” The Prince studied the note, then me, then took the pencil to add, “Anything to share?”, and tore the sheet out to pass it to me together with the pencil. I wrote back: “No idea. Why assume—” A sharp gasp cut me off. The Prince was staring straight up. High in the black sky, B613's green and sandy disc was still visible, along with the protrusion of the house. But it floated definitely much father than the anchor’s rope length. He immediately urged the bird into a vertical dash. Gravity’s sudden shift flung off all others except me (I managed to grip the wing). The Hunter grabbed the Fox by the scruff, but his other hand was full of packed rifle. The Fox shrieked shattering the silence, likely recalling his fall from B612 to B613 long ago. The Prince barely glanced back. “I’ll return!” he shouted, maintaining course. The planet endured the noise without quaking. Below, the bugs converged on the fallen duo, hopefully to restrain them again. As the bird breached the atmosphere, the wind howled in my ears. “Was this your doing?” the Prince yelled. “Why always me?” I shot back, clinging tighter. “The bugs must’ve unhooked the anchor since it was damaging their fragile world. And why panic? You have transport, you’ll catch the asteroid up in no time.” “You don’t understand,” he ground out. “My Rose! She’d have seen the asteroid detach and send a letter or the Shimmerling to warn me. Nothing came. What if something happened to her?” “Maybe she didn’t notice,” I muttered without conviction, squinting at the approaching sphere. Trees, lawns, windows came into focus. Where had she been before we left? Under the apple tree? The foliage hid any sign of her. On landing, I stumbled bruising my knees and palms while the Prince sprinted ahead. “Rose!” I reached the tree seconds later. Her pot lay overturned, soil spilled. No Rose. Just like on X000 where she had died. The stupid human body reacted faster than my mind. Heat flooded my skull; my chest ached sharply. I braced against the trunk, scolding myself inwardly to snap out of it—this was the plan, she’s fine, no need to panic. I just hadn’t expected her to act so quickly… The Prince knew none of this. But he had a suspect. He whirled, seized my collar, and slammed me against the tree. “Where is she?! Don’t lie!” Rage contorted his face, so intense that I got worried for my life. Pacifist though he was, he had always made exceptions for me. And in his combat form, he could easily throttle me bare-handed, as I had nearly learned on the Planet of the Roses. “She’s fine…” I choked out. He loosened his grip a bit. “Must be nearby. Let’s look. You know I wouldn’t harm her.” “I know you’ve killed her twice,” he hissed, shoved me again, then dashed toward the house. “Once! And by accident!” I yelled after him, circling the asteroid’s barren side just in case. The unease lingered. Why wasn’t she answering the calls? Had she, true to form, found a way to complicate everything? The house yielded no clues either. The Prince emerged, still empty-handed—and I remained in mortal peril. “Wait,” I redirected in haste, “the ex-gloomy was with her. Summon it, it must know where she is.” He hesitated, his fists still clenched. “To summon Shimmerling—it has a name—I need happy thoughts. And that’s hard with your scheming. So, save time and just tell me where she is!” What scheme? Where could she have gone? To the planet? Had the bugs climbed the anchor chain? No, the blue gloomy would’ve stopped them… I needed the ex-gloomy, which required calming the Prince, though I was now genuinely rattled. Fine. Breathe in, then out. Feign control. Easy. “Why all the panic?” I smirked, clapping his epaulette. “Maybe she fancied a stroll without you—” “A stroll?!” he spluttered. “Are you mad?” “Perfectly sane. Her kin run around sands and stupid rose petals, so why shouldn’t she walk? Okay, I admit it was me who pointed out to her that roses can move on their own… but she’s clever enough to realise that herself.” He studied me oddly, head tilted. At least he wasn’t murderous anymore. “No,” he suddenly smiled. “I can still hear you worrying. But now I have something nice to think about.” What? Could he read my emotions now, like he did with plants and creatures? Just what I needed! He closed his eyes. The familiar blue orb materialised with a pop, darting about hysterically. It squealed louder than usual, alternately pointing at the planet and zooming upward. “Slower, please,” the Prince said. “You took her up to scout the planet?” So she’s there. The Prince bolted for the roof, reaching it in three bounds in his combat form. Was he planning to chase the planet with the asteroid? Too slow… Ah, no, he was directing paper horses and birds toward the planet while sketching another bird on the ground. Leaving me behind? Perfect. Wait, no. A realisation sent me sprinting to the apple tree. Hurry before he didn’t leave! I grabbed the pot under the tree and dashed back to open ground. The Prince had already taken off. I shouted as he banked. He adjusted course, arm outstretched. What, was I to board mid-air? I tried—and would’ve slipped if he hadn’t caught my elbow. Once secured, he resumed vertical ascent. “Thanks! I meant to fetch the pot!” he yelled over the wind. “Right,” I called back. “The soil is sparse there. She won’t last long without it. Not yet.”        At that point, I fell silent. The soil was taken care of—but there were also bugs. And Rose had a delightful habit of squealing at any suspicious movement. It was unlikely she had landed in a safe zone. And if the ants stumbled upon her, they’d undoubtedly roll her up in glue—and she was fragile, she’d break… I watched the approaching edge of the planet, the blue patch of the ex-gloomy ahead. Ah, there were creeping russet and dark-green spots; the Hunter and the Fox had so far managed to evade the natives, but upon noticing us, they veered to intercept. Yet the blue ball was hurtling in the opposite direction. Alright, now hold onto the trailing edge of the wing—soon the bird would enter the planet’s gravitational field, and the Prince, it seemed, was about to plunge straight into the ground. No, at the last moment, he levelled the bird into a glide. Good, I couldn’t grab him now, my hands were full, and I had no intention of repeating the Hunter’s fall. Meanwhile, the ex-gloomy zigzagged frantically between the cracks. The Prince hissed at it when its chirping grew too shrill a couple of times. Right, calling out to Rose aloud was out of the question. He must have thought the same, judging by his furrowed brow. Then he reached for his belt, winced—and the bird began descending and braking. And vanished so fast I didn’t even have time to stand. The Prince was the first to jump off, and his doublet melted away, but now he could retrieve his notebook. So, after all, he couldn’t wield his sword and notebook simultaneously. Might come in handy. He tore out a page, folded it into a paper airplane. “Letters always know where to fly,” he murmured, though I hadn’t asked, and dashed after the launched paper. I followed. And, naturally, I fell behind, panting. That’s it, if I ever needed to take human form again, I’d pick something sturdier and stronger. Meanwhile, the letter, followed by the ex-gloomy, dived into a narrow crevice, where familiar prattling was heard. “My Rose!” the Prince whispered, dropping to his knees by the crack. I simply peered down. The pit was deep, with no hardened glue, and the Rose at the bottom was well out of reach from the surface. But her upturned face glowed with joy. Though, upon spotting me, she pouted. And my frayed nerves demanded retribution. “Fool!” I hissed. “What were you thinking? Not all planets have soil fit for you! Fancy dying again?” Immediately, I earned a jab and a furious glare from the Prince. “None of your serpent business!” came her sulky voice from below. “Forgive me, my Prince, I didn’t mean to frighten you, I thought I’d meet you here and make a surprise… No, I’m fine, down here, there’s a bit of dust, some moisture, it’s livable.” The Prince hastily whispered to her about the need for silence. I glanced around just in case this commotion drew unwanted witnesses. Not yet, it seemed. Though… Distant flickering dots soon grew into the Hunter’s hat and the Fox’s raised tail, and then into the pair themselves, running and out of breath. The Prince kept trying to reach Rose but gave up the futile effort to hug the Fox instead. Here they go. “Back there,” the Hunter wheezed, “following us… those…” “Hear that?” I, too, knelt by the crevice, peering in. What was Rose up to? The ex-gloomy had slipped down to her level and could have pulled her out with ease, but she stubbornly waved it off and made no move toward the Prince either. “Stop being difficult and get out.” “Yes,” the Fox said, handing the Prince a retrieved pencil and also poking his nose into the crack, “for once, I agree with the worm. My precious little salad, look at me and my new haircut.” He twisted his mangy muzzle. “If you don’t come out now, you’ll go bald too, like a dandelion in autumn.” “Thanks for the warning,” the Rose muttered, “now everyone shut up! I think I heard something.” And she squeezed herself deeper into the crevice. Heard something? Just what I needed (not). Time to press the Prince’s nerves. “Get her out, or the bugs will be here any second!” He glanced back but didn’t hurry. “They’ll break her!” “Oh,” the Hunter suddenly whimpered, freezing. Five ants, soldiers, of course, emerged one by one from a shallow transverse ditch. Hopefully, everyone would stay quiet to avoid provoking them. Then the ex-gloomy burst from the crack with desperate babbling, circled the bugs twice, and zigzagged away. Not a bad plan. Or it would have been, had all the natives chased it. But only two ran after the blue ball. Well, Prince, do something! And he pulled out his notebook, retrieving… uh, a box. Wooden, slightly larger than the Fox, with a round hole and wing-like handles on the ends. It flapped these… stumps and hovered mid-air. And squeaked. A second box followed, then a third, enough for the remaining ants. Squeaking in unison, the boxes fluttered before the ants’ feelers and scattered in all directions. Naturally, they gave chase, while the humans stayed silent and still. They didn’t move until the bugs were out of sight. “Climb out while it’s clear!” I tried to shout quietly. “Quiet, she asked for silence!” the Prince cut in, then leaned over the crevice. “What did you hear?” So he remembered. How to create background noise without being obvious? The Fox was too far, five paces away, no accidental kick possible. The Hunter… He was poking at a block of white glue with his finger. “Why not light it?” I said to him at normal volume, standing to rustle about. “Shut up, will’ya?” the Fox interjected. “We won’t believe you anyway.” “Fine, don’t say I didn’t try.” I crossed my arms. “He’ll fuss until the end of time. Possibly the near future. And what kind of Hunter is he without a rifle? Not even fit as a watchman.” “Hey now!” the Hunter protested, still picking at the mass with a tiny splinter. “I’m serious. The resin is flammable, it’ll evaporate before the wooden stock ignites. After your last shot, you didn’t reload, so no bullets in the barrel, no powder on the pan, nothing will explode.” The splinter snapped in his hands, and the Hunter cursed, though he hesitated, chewing his lip. Meanwhile, I turned back to the Prince. He couldn’t reach the bottom, so he unwound his scarf and lowered it. The Rose finally grabbed on and let herself be pulled up. I held out her pot. She flashed her eyes but climbed in, burying herself in the remaining soil. The Prince snatched the pot from my hands at once. The Rose kept glancing down, twisting her leaves. Why did she need sensitivity on top of everything else? “So what did you hear?” the Prince and Fox asked in unison. “Yes, let me speak!” she chattered, waving her leaves. “I heard a voice. Not even a voice—a sense of a call, maybe. Down there, someone wanted out, suffering in the dark and tightness. Someone begged to be freed.” “Ah, a baobab,” I cut in. “Told you—just strike the weak point of the surface hard enough.” “No,” the Rose scowled, annoyed at the interruption. “On B612, I touched baobab sprouts. Even tiny, they’re rude and refuse to talk. This was different. Someone—or something—was pleading for help.” “No, little naïve flower,” the Fox grumbled, “you missed the earthquake, otherwise you wouldn’t want to release it.” The Prince stayed silent. He clearly didn’t trust my words alone. But combined with the Rose’s opinion, they made him doubt. Time to add a detail or two. “Exactly. Wreck everything if you think this baobab is worth more than the locals.” “Yes, Rose, we can’t leave them homeless either. Did you hear how to free this thing? Maybe there’s a way without breaking the planet?” The Rose faltered. “I don’t know. No, I didn’t. But it’s awful! I lived under glass for so long, and it’s terribly lonely, especially with no one around. But now, travelling with you, even walking alone… I can’t possibly bear being stuck in one place under a bell jar, never seeing starlight. And someone down there is suffering just as much.” Damn her, the Prince might just fall for her pleas. Lost in thought, he set her aside and tried reaching deeper himself, even climbing down, bracing against the crevice walls. After a long struggle, he emerged bewildered. “I heard nothing,” he admitted. “But I believe you, my Rose.” “Well, I don’t,” the Fox said. “Last time she imagined something, how did that end? With the Snake filling her head and making her dance to his tune.” “Rubbish, you dust-mop!” the Rose snapped. “You used him too, promised to eat him if needed, but chickened out! My Prince,” she turned her face to him, “I swear, I heard something! On my own, no hints!” “Truly on your own?” he frowned. “Because I found out who suggested you learn to walk.” “Well, that…” She had the decency to avert her eyes from her Prince. “Yes, I followed the Snake’s advice… But I thought it through and found no harm in it! My kin really can walk, so why not me? I don’t want to always burden you.” “Oh, but you’re not!” the Prince protested. Oh, here come the sweet nothings… “But admit it, advice from the Snake is always suspici—” He suddenly fell silent for a second, then turned to me: “Oh? Clever. Very much your style.” Blast, did he guess?… But he said no more, springing to his feet and pressing a hand to his heart. To draw something? Yes. And now, from the uneven surface, an elephant rose. At his command, it trumpeted and stomped. So the Prince did believe her and guessed right. The ground beneath my feet shuddered, rising in one spot and sinking in another. That was all the extent of the special effects. “The entire royal army will definitely come running now,” I snorted. “Shouldn’t we fly farther away? Or higher?” “No,” the Prince said, staring bewildered at his thunderous animal. “But why? Last time the shaking was stronger…” “Last time the noise was louder. I was shooting,” the Hunter sighed. He had only managed to chip a small dent in the block so far. The futility of his efforts seemed to dawn on him, as he finally stopped picking at it. The Prince, without dispelling his transformation, began helping the idiot, since he was already holding a sharp-bladed weapon. In this case, a whittling one. Keeping half an eye on them, I sat on the edge of the crevice opposite the Rose. The perfect time to drip a few more doubts into her mind while the others were busy. “Are you sure you heard someone’s voice, and not just the echo of your own thirst for adventure and freedom?” “Well… yes, I’m sure,” she said thoughtfully, but then shook her petals. “And anyway, I’m not listening to you anymore! You promised to be quiet.” “That was for that specific moment, not forever.” “Oi, what’s this conspiracy over here?” the Fox finally cut in. “My little cabbage, you’ve been there, done that!” He was interrupted by a stream of curses from the Hunter. What now? A whole pile of shavings lay on the ground, the block was half its original size, and still no sign of the rifle. Ah, the red-tagged ant! So it hadn’t wanted to hand over the weapon of making marked sergeants and slipped in a dummy. The Prince seemed to reach the same conclusion. “Maybe the spider you shot—oh, I should ask what they call themselves—forgot where he put your rifle and carved the wrong block?” Forgot, my tail. “Then we have to go back!” Suddenly, his blue doublet vanished along with the elephant. He pulled out his notebook and began scribbling furiously. A minute later, a paper airplane took flight. After that, the Prince returned to his parade uniform and sketched another elephant on the ground, and waved everyone to mount it. What, did he intend to tromp all the way to the safe zone with fanfare? And in which direction? The Prince remembered the direction. And yes, we rode with stomping but no earthquakes. No wonder that the entire garrison, led by the Red, was already lined up at the yellow zone’s edge. But instead of turning around and quickly switching to something airborne, the Prince charged the elephant straight at them. No fool would step in front of that monster, and the bugs parted, spat at the elephant’s heels, and abruptly brought it to a halt. Me and all other Prince’s gang slid down the trunk into the zone. Right into a circle of ant soldiers. What was the point? Still holding the Rose, the Prince moved toward the Red for negotiations. Probably to feign peaceful intentions, he dissolved the elephant and dropped his transformation. The Red stepped forward too, but its mandibles clicked in anything but peace. “Please, we don’t want to cause harm—” A smaller bug darted ahead oftheRed and spat webbing at the Prince’s outstretched hand. He dodged in time. The Rose shrieked, of course. “Stop! Please!” she added in a trembling voice. “We really want to help you.” The soldier-ant waved its feelers in her direction, took a couple of steps forward, then back—and bowed bending its front legs. “As you command, princess,” it squeaked. What? Judging by the chorus of clicks and gasps, I wasn’t the only one who missed the joke. The bugs took turns approaching the Prince, examining Rose with their feelers and eyes, then backing away with bows. Only the Red seemed displeased. It scurried forward, between its subordinates and the Rose, clacking and screeching: “What?! Stand down! So what if she’s red head? She’s smaller! Not our kind! I outrank her! Detain them!” “No,” the same small soldier piped up, emboldened. “Yours just spot on forehead—hers head all of royal colour. And smells like princess.” “Right, maybe such Araformics like her live in other colonies! We don’t know…” murmurs came from the crowd. The rank-and-file ants swayed but held their ground. I could’ve told them she had no relation to their species, that in her world petal colour meant nothing. I could’ve asked if they wanted their planet destroyed. There were plenty of things I could’ve said to steer their thoughts where needed. But I couldn’t—because right in front of them, within spitting distance, the Rose stood, weak and fragile. How brilliantly she complicates everything… So I just watched as initiative and authority slipped from the Red’s grasp. Sensing the general confusion, the Rose spoke up, all polite and sweet: “Please, would you be so kind as to return the Hunter’s rifle? His noisy stick, I mean. He won’t shoot again.” The small ant couldn’t resist her charm and bolted for the ditch. The Red couldn’t tolerate such insubordination and lunged at the offender. It spat, hit the rebel, but the little one was running so fast it couldn’t stop when its hind leg was glued to the ground. With a snap and a crunch, part of the leg tore off. That was the last straw for the other soldiers. The Prince didn’t even finish saying, “Don’t fight, please” before the Red was wrapped head to toe in webbing by its grateful subordinates, only one feeler twitching desperately outside. Seemed he had leaned too hard into the commander role and annoyed his troops enough that they were happy to switch allegiance to the first partially red object they saw. Namely, the Rose. “No one’s fighting,” the new sergeant, with uneven feelers, clicked. “Just disciplining a troublemaker.” Meanwhile, the others carried out the Rose’s order and handed the Hunter another white block within minutes. The Hunter grabbed it like a long-lost friend and scurried off just in case. There, he ran into the same old problem. The glue casing wouldn’t scrape off with a nail. Or a tooth. And the Prince was busy checking if the Red could still breathe and if the legless soldier was not in too much pain. Suddenly, the Hunter smacked his forehead, knocking off his monstrous hat, and pulled out a matchbox. Seems my advice about matches had stuck in his memory, though he had forgotten the source. For once, the advice proved useful. And I also learned where to find matches. The Prince and the Fox didn’t even have time to wonder where the smell of burnt resin came from before the Hunter’s rifle lay at his feet, slightly singed and apparently still hot, as he dropped it with a curse when he tried to pick it up. The stench also repelled the ants, who backed away from the source. “Do you still have those rounds,” the Prince whispered, sidling up to the Hunter, “the ones you used to break the cage and free me on the butterfly planet?” Break it? But the Hunter had said he had no lead bullets. “Of course, a couple dozen!” the Hunter cackled, opening his bag. Well, well. He pulled out a cartridge with a purple casing. Finally, I’d learn what it was. After the rifle cooled down, that is. Meanwhile, some precautions wouldn’t hurt. “At least make her a glass bell jar!” I nagged the Prince. “The locals won’t like what’s coming. If the quake starts, the Rose won’t stop them. Fear outweighs discipline. And we can’t leave—there’s a reason these are called safe zones. You’re doing the right thing, but they’ll think you want their planet destroyed.” He just squinted and flipped through his notebook. Then a paper butterfly landed on his shoulder. The Prince carefully unfolded it and began to read. A reply to his letter? From whom? The Queen or the King? After finishing, the Prince just gave a pleased “Aha!”, stuck his tongue out at me, and reached for his notebook. Rationally, I knew it wasn’t about me, but I still tensed. But all he did was conjure another odd object, a stick with a circular frame at the end. Inside the frame, a wet rainbow film shimmered. The ants crept closer to gawk. “This is completely harmless,” the Prince assured them, raising the stick like a bat. “Sorry.” A step forward, a swing—and bubbles burst from the hoop in swarms, enveloping the bugs. Within seconds, every ant was floating inside a soap bubble (though not an ordinary one). No matter how much they scrabbled or clicked, they couldn’t pop the film from inside. Meanwhile, the Hunter sorted his ammunition and, at the Prince’s direction, aimed at a ditch beyond the safe zone. He fired. This time, the blast was louder than the paint round. Chunks of crust and glue flew in all directions. I barely had time to shut my eyes and turn away. When the debris settled, a crater half the Hunter’s height (not counting the hat) remained. And this was “no live rounds”? I said as much to the Hunter as he reloaded, sitting on the trembling ground. Another purple casing. “It’s not lead or shrapnel. It’s salt,” he barely shouted over the subterranean rumble, then added after a pause, “Berthollet’s salt. With an oxidiser. Keep that in mind if you ever think of causing trouble.” Well, well. Explosives. I’d remember that, of course. The ants in bubbles either curled into balls or flailed wildly. The Red threatened from its cocoon to make the treacherous outsiders pay. I crouched just in case, but it turned out unnecessary. The rumble and shaking faded again. “Oh,” the Prince suddenly smacked his forehead and rushed to stop the Hunter, who was already lining up another shot. “The sleeping draught and the music box. The Queen must have used them, probably.” And he scribbled out and sent another letter in the same direction, then blew from the pages of his notebook yet another monstrosity: a mechanical elephant on long, spindly legs, standing seven or eight Hunters tall. Upon seeing its master, the mechanism slowly folded its legs triple and extended its trunk as a gangway. The Prince, still holding the Rose, sprinted up onto the back of the big-eared contraption, followed at a gallop by the Fox, then the Hunter, who lost his balance after a few steps and tumbled off. The elephant scooped him up with its trunk. I approached the construct slowly. It didn’t look the least bit stable. The first proper jolt would topple it. But could the Prince, if needed, hold onto the Rose and the others and still pull off whatever he was planning? I remembered my own twisted fairy tale on the bird-fruit planet. No, it would be better to join them after all. But before I could step onto the trunk, the construct began rising unevenly at both ends. “Got any bubbles left?” the Fox’s voice carried from behind the elephant’s ears. “Let the worm sit with the ants, keep him out of our way.” “No, absolutely not,” the Prince replied. “We can’t leave him unsupervised. Even in a bubble—the soap film’s easy to pop from the outside. But as for staying out of the way…” He patted the elephant’s crown, and it suddenly swung its trunk, coiled it around me, and strode toward the sunset. It didn’t hoist me up, just carried me dangling in mid-air. “Hey, down there!” The Fox was thoroughly amused. “Comfy?” “Fine,” I snapped. “Shorter drop than yours if it falls.” It wasn’t fine, of course. The trunk pinned my arms to my sides, leaving me to hope the gripping mechanism stayed steady: squeeze tighter, and it’d break something; loosen, and I’d plummet down before I could grab hold. The metal dug into my ribs, making it hard to breathe. And the ugly thing swayed with each step. Please don’t let me get motion sickness too… The elephant might’ve moved its legs slowly, but its stride was long, and crevices flashed by below. Where was it even headed? The Queen’s palace had been in the opposite direction. “Justice exists after all,” the Fox crowed from above. “Pure karma. This is for you, slime, for every time you tried to throttle me or the Little Prince.” “Never brought it to the end, though.” “And you’re not being throttled now, just slightly dusted off.” Here, the Prince muttered something disapproving to him. “No teasing allowed?” the Fox retorted, incredulous. “He can do it, but I can’t?” The Rose joined the hushed argument, and it devolved into domestic squabbling. Then the Hunter piped up to ask what was happening, how much longer the ride would be, and when he could shoot. “We all saw the planet’s shape from afar,” the Prince explained. “It’s not just a round ball. But back then, I didn’t realise what it reminded me of. When my Rose mentioned something underground, it clicked. It’s a pit. Like an apricot’s. Or a nut. The entire planet is actually a seed. And it wants to sprout, but the locals, deceived by the Snake, keep sealing the cracks, sedating it. Yes, the Queen wrote back that she had learned long ago from a certain long, black creature we know, that her world could shatter from noise. We must help the sprout break free. And what’s the easiest point to crack a pit? Along the seam! Not at the yellow patches, as the Snake claimed.” “I never said the safe zone was the weak point!” I shouted. “You made that up yourself.” “But what happens to the inhabitants?” the Fox asked, less than confident. “They’ll have a new home—a tree! You’ve seen those, er… the sap-giving ones. They look like leaves, they’re green, as if made to live among branches.” “True!” the Hunter chimed in. “Animals’ colours and builds always suit their habitats… Wait, is that the seam ahead?” Right, a low ridge ran along the entire horizon. The Hunter asked to stop. After a couple of strides, the elephant halted. It showed no sign of releasing me, though. Hopefully, the Hunter would aim at the seam’s fissure as instructed, because I was dangling far too close to his line of fire. The shot itself sounded quieter from above than the explosion below, at the seam. A cloud of splinters, dust, and white paste erupted ten steps from the elephant. I barely shut my eyes in time. Then the ground shuddered with a low rumble, once, twice. I opened my eyes just as the earth flew toward me. Or rather, the elephant toppled, but what difference did it make for me? Suddenly, the trunk’s loop vanished, and I barely managed to brace my arms, softening the fall as I rolled sideways. Again. My poor vessel, please, no fractures… Wait, where was the Rose? She didn’t shriek as she should. I twisted around with effort, still prone, since the quake hadn’t stopped. The Prince landed neat on his feet (he’d grown accustomed to falls after I had chased him across the galaxy). The Hunter flopped onto his side, but his fat reserves acted like springs, bouncing him upright. Where was the Rose? And the Rose hovered mid-air, pot and all, clutched by the ex-gloomy. The turncoat had returned and now held the Fox by the tail with its other hand. The Hunter was already leaping along the ridge, firing, stumbling from recoil, hauling himself up as the ground bucked. Fine, let him waste more explosive rounds. And where was the Prince? Ah, now in blue, he was finally sketching a bird for evacuation while flora and fauna dangled aloft. Best join them. With the next shot, a crunch tore along the planet’s seam, echoing underfoot. The tiny ditch I had aimed to step over gaped into a chasm. I recoiled just as the pit chose that moment to split at every seam. The ground beneath me lurched sharply, trying to fling me into the fissure, from which something pale green and writhing was emerging… But instead of falling into the greenery, I hit the translucent wing of the sketched bird, nearly slid off, but was yanked back by the collar. Indignant babbling identified my rescuer. “Same goes for you,” I replied to the ex-gloomy’s tirade. The Prince, meanwhile, was plucking the Hunter from amid the surging sprouts. The subterranean roar swelled to thunder. No more shooting needed. But the bird didn’t get far. The Queen materialised mid-air ahead, wings a crimson blur, forelegs poised to decapitate. And the Prince still hadn’t made a glass bell for the Rose. “Why have you destroyed my kingdom?” she screeched. “Your Majesty!” The Prince landed the bird on an ascending clump of shoots and began negotiations. “You were deceived. This isn’t your world’s end—it’s the beginning. Look, the planet isn’t crumbling, it’s sprouting. Because your world is a seed. Instead of a barren husk, you’ll have forests, endless food for the green ones, endless space, and you may sing and speak wherever you wish.” “How can you be sure?” The Queen wavered but resisted. “In your letter, you said the Snake warned you of the danger. He lied. He’s a vile creature who sows chaos across the universe. I’ve pursued him for ages, thwarting his schemes.” “And I heard the sprout,” the Rose added with a curtsy, “before it slept. It meant no harm, it only wanted freedom.” The branch bore the bird higher. The Queen kept pace, silently observing as pale buds unfurled leaves looking so much alike the aphids. “But my palace…” she began weakly, then whirled and streaked back the way she had come. The Prince urged the bird after her. A straight path at speed did the trick. Above the curliest branch in this hemisphere, the Queen halted. Her palace, chipped and tilted at the edges, stood intact on its yellow platform, rising steadily with the growth. On the roof, knees drawn up, the King gaped at the sight. I hoped this terror wouldn’t compel him to flee the planet. “You see?” The Prince laughed. “Nothing is lost. Quite the opposite.” *** Within an hour, the botanical explosion had concluded. The resulting cabbage-head appeared somewhat pallid and sparse having overstayed its time in the shell. Yet both the insects and this distorted vegetation were utterly delighted. The King, having heard the saviours' tale, composed himself and elected to remain. Splendid, that’s precisely where he belonged. After another round of gratitude, well-wishes and other such nonsense, the Prince finally deigned to return his company to B613. He placed the Rose’s pot on the sunny side of the well, where she immediately clung to the rim, extracting golden roots to dangle in the air — showing off, naturally. The Fox and Prince crowded round for a better view, blocking mine entirely. Well, the insects had their luck. For now. Until this rare binary star system and its consequent absence of proper night eventually exhausted the cabbage. Fortunately, there’s no Geographer here to recall the particulars of plant biology. Still, today’s defeat wasn’t total: I now knew where the Hunter kept his matches, that he lacked cold steel, that I carried a high-yield round in my pocket, and that the Rose followed my design. Moreover, the Prince could no longer dismiss my words outright. He’d hesitate at least, and at most, he might believe me capable of redemption. Though steering his thoughts that way requires further work. “I told you so. From the very beginning.” “Oddly enough,” the Fox remarked without his usual bluster. “Not odd at all.” The Prince suddenly jabbed a finger my way. “You knew we wouldn’t believe you, so you told the truth precisely to make us do the opposite. And for a moment I actually thought you meant to help…” “How would you know what I truly intended?” I replied calmly. True, he had seen through the ruse, but doubt could still be sown. “Do you imagine me physically incapable of good?” “Frankly, yes.” The Fox scratched behind his ear. “As Queen Feng once said, you’re the shadow to all light, darkness in every heart, and so long and so forth. It’s not in your nature.” Ah, but counterarguments exist. “Then how do you explain my saving everyone on the planet—” I stopped mid-sentence. “Shadow to all light”… “Not in your nature”… “Saved everyone”… The words aligned, interlocked, ignited revelation. Was this the answer? I am void and darkness incarnate, yet I reversed the demise of two civilisations and sundry travellers—acting against my essence. Why then wonder at losing connection to that essence? Some commotion nearby. I blinked, refocusing. The Prince stood close, asking something, shaking my shoulder. It was all irrelevant. The hypothesis, its implications and tests demanded examination. I shrugged him off and strode to the house, entering through the absent wall. Too bright inside, too open. Where to hide? Sofa, table, hearth, bookcase. The bookcase it was; I wrenched its doors open and scaled the shelves, hoping it wouldn’t topple under my weight… No, it held fast. From the top, I clambered onto a ceiling beam. Mercifully, there was no proper ceiling, the beam proved sufficiently broad, and the roof shielded against sky and light. I stretched along the beam. Below, judging by sounds, others had entered through the missing wall. The Prince, most likely. Indeed, his voice rang: “Snake, what’s with this sulking? Well sorry, but you’ve done everything to earn distrust. I’ll speak to the Fox about needling you less.” “What will you speak to me about?” The Fox had followed, and the clamour ensued. Worse, the ex-gloomy fluttered near the rafters, growling, pink eyes narrowed at me in suspicion. “Could I have one blasted minute of peace?!” I snapped both to vent and genuinely secure silence. They weren’t the priority. “Honestly, that’s enough…” “Alright, don’t fret.” They withdrew, seemingly. The blue ball departed too, shaking a tiny fist in parting. Now, where was I? If my entrapment in human form stemmed from acting contrary to my nature, saving others… Would the opposite help? Might I revert by destroying something? Testing seems prudent, now that I could break things directly. Though I had already shredded a flower, torn pages from the Geographer’s book, torched the bird-fruit planet—all to no effect. Or the scale was insufficient? Equal magnitude suggested killing something living. I could begin right now, with anyone—none expected violence from me. But if mistaken, testing further hypotheses would be impossible. The Prince would never forgive it, might imprison me on a page as threatened. Moreover, if scale mattered, must I annihilate an entire planet to counter saving two civilisations plus bystanders? Anyway, caution was essential. Stealth, alibis, no evidence. My usual methods, redoubled. Else I’d be locked in the notebook, forfeiting today’s hard-won shreds of trust. And might today’s unvarnished truth count as another “rescue”? Fine, no more direct hints. …Hm, if compelled to commit evil, to kill, would the Prince lose his abilities with sword and sketchbook? Once before, despair had cost him just that. But hope is fickle; gone today, back tomorrow. Bloodstains, however, persist. Everything else can be mended, but not that. Yet making him murder anyone would be harder than planet-smashing for a twelve-year-old. The Prince categorically refused violence against living things, even those threatening him. Myself excepted, of course. The gloomies too, but they didn’t count as truly alive. No, likely ineffective. He was merely an unusual human, not an immortal entity like me. Cheerful voices outside interrupted my musings. Too many voices for the current company. I listened. Ah, the Geographer and the Businessman returned, damn them, boasting of achievements. Against my will, I heard how they had built a planetary thruster, how the Geographer calculated the perfect orbit for a perfect climate, precisely replicating the old orbit, as vines require damp and chill. The Businessman bragged of philanthropic rescues, profit-free yet lossless, with bonus bargaining. How could I concentrate amidst this noise? I turned to simpler matters, like which planet to target next.