But Mahfouza would have none of it. She stopped whirling and, gently, took Pandy’s hands in hers, swaying slowly from side to side. Pandy had almost no choice but to follow. She looked at Iole, who was moving with Almase and smiling broadly, and Alcie, who appeared to be laughing with Nabile and Sabahat, but still remained motionless, her arms folded defiantly across her chest.

  Pandy looked back at Mahfouza and, abandoning her own thoughts for a moment, tried to keep up. She felt so foolish. And then, as if she had drunk a strange elixir, the music found its way into her bones. Her head cleared of everything and she thought of nothing but the rhythms around her. Suddenly her feet were moving on their own. Her arms found a new energy and they mirrored Mahfouza’s movements exactly. She swayed back and forth, watching Mahfouza’s feet, trying each new step, every little variation. Then Mahfouza spun around several times and Pandy’s jaw dropped. Mahfouza laughed and did it again. It was only after the third time that Pandy just let herself go. She spun and stopped. Perfect. She spun again and again and again. Then she fell down.

  Laughing hard, Mahfouza helped Pandy up, then taught her how to look at a certain point in the tent every time she whirled to keep from getting dizzy. Soon Pandy was spinning almost as fast as the “rare birds” she thought so lovely. Her arms were swaying and she was perfectly in step.

  And a new feeling crept into her soul. The tiniest hint of a notion. That on this night she just might be feeling what it’s like to be a full-grown woman. Pretty. Attractive. Feminine. No longer awkward in her own skin, but graceful, comfortable, and strong. How her beautiful mother must feel every moment of her life . . . when she isn’t in a jar. She began to really smile, which only made Mahfouza laugh all the more.

  Pandy looked at Iole to see if she was feeling the same. Iole’s dancing was anything but graceful—her legs and arms seemed to be about a beat behind the music—but it was plain from the look in her eyes that she was having the time of her life.

  Then Pandy turned to find Alcie.

  Because of her two left feet, Alcie couldn’t manage the basic steps no matter how hard she tried. However, in the few moments they had been learning to dance, she had become a master spinner—to the right. Nabile and Sabahat were dancing again themselves, Iole was enjoying herself too much, as was everyone else, so it was only Pandy who watched Alcie, giggling wildly, spin herself through a loose flap in the tent wall and out into the desert night.

  That sight was all the jolt Pandy needed to focus again. She stopped dancing and walked quickly to Iole.

  As good a time as she was having, Iole saw the serious look on Pandy’s face and instantly stood still.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s right,” Pandy said. “I think I know how we can get to Alexandria . . . tonight!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  A Conversation

  9:57 p.m.

  Pandy and Iole ran out of the tangerine tent as the dancing continued inside.

  The spot where Alcie had tumbled through was now on the farthest side away from them.

  “This way is shorter,” said Iole, running to the left.

  “No, this way,” Pandy answered, dashing off to the right.

  “All right. Great Aphrodite, it doesn’t really matter,” said Iole racing past Pandy.

  When they arrived at the place where Alcie should have been, however, she was nowhere to be found; only the bottom of the tent jumbled in upon itself and two left-foot tracks leading off a short distance before disappearing completely.

  “Alcie!” Pandy cried. They were on the perimeter of the camp, now completely deserted. Pandy saw the silver slug trail only a few meters away, hoping against hope that Alcie hadn’t stumbled into it.

  “Come on.”

  They ran as fast as they could to Usumacinta’s garlic-shaped tent. It too was deserted.

  “Where did she go?” asked Iole.

  “All right,” said Pandy. “First, we find Wang Chun Lo. I have to speak to him right now. Then we’ll find Alcie. I’m sure she’s back in the main tent or she found the cooking tent and she’s eating again or . . . or . . . I don’t know, but she’s around somewhere.” The notion that Alcie might have accidentally fried herself like a little beetle sent a shiver up Pandy’s spine, but she didn’t want to unnecessarily alarm Iole.

  Unbeknownst to either of them, Alcie was in none of those places.

  Alcie sat up on the sandy ground, having just crashed her way through the tent, and batted at the heavy fabric still caught around her feet. As she cleared the last of it away, she burst into tears.

  She stood up and tried to walk in a straight line back toward the garlic-shaped tent but, as usual, her feet kept taking her to the right. She was so tired of her miserable condition (her “bipedal challenge,” as Iole called it) that every step brought more tears. She realized that, as she danced, she’d been happy for the first time in days. Every rare, fleeting moment of joy since she’d left Athens was consistently taken from her as soon as it arrived. She gave up struggling against her feet and just veered, willy-nilly, into the camp, weeping dejectedly and not very softly.

  Suddenly, she hit a tree. Before she could fall backward, however, two massive arms caught her and stood her upright again.

  Alcie looked up in the light from the half moon and saw Homer staring down at her.

  “Oh . . . hi,” she said, turning her face away.

  “Hi.”

  “I’m sorry I walked into you. I thought you were a tree. Not to say that I walk into trees. I just . . . oh, apples,” she said, a quiver in her voice, “wasn’t paying much attention.”

  Homer continued to hold her by her arms. Alcie, even though she was terribly embarrassed that he was seeing her crying and disheveled, let herself just . . . kinda . . . collapse. And still he held her. After a moment, he picked her up and carried her to the circle of animal cages in the center of the camp. He found two that were empty, placed her gently on top of one, and sat down himself on the other, which promptly exploded underneath him.

  “I’ll stand.”

  “Thanks. For . . . carrying me . . . for that,” said Alcie. Then she began crying again. “I just can’t walk anymore!”

  Homer was silent for a long time. So long, in fact, that Alcie had time to stop sniffling. She began to think he was just tolerating her; that he really thought she was foolish, with her wisecracking mouth and bizarre feet. Her situation wasn’t really her fault in the first place! Okay, so she wasn’t Pandy, and she was certain that she’d seen the way he looked at Pandy. Why was he even being nice to her? And then she started to get angry.

  “Lemons. I’m gonna go . . .”

  “Can I read something to you?” he said abruptly.

  “Um. Okay,” she answered hesitantly. “What I mean is, of course you can. May. You may. Yes. Please.”

  “It’s a poem.”

  “Oh! Huh? A what?” she cried, then, “When did you write a poem?”

  “Just now. But I’ve been working on it in my head for a few hours.”

  Homer unfolded a small piece of parchment.

  “What’s it about?”

  “Just some thoughts,” Homer replied, but his hands were shaking slightly.

  He cleared his throat twice and began to read, never taking his eyes from the page.

  The poem wasn’t very long; it contained a few words that Alcie didn’t understand exactly, she only knew that hearing them gave her an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach, like she had swallowed butterflies. Then she realized it was a love poem . . . actually more of a “deep, deep like” poem. It was about a boy and a girl who came from different worlds, but he had grown to care about her in the short time they’d known each other.

  And then Alcie’s stomach dropped out of her body and onto the ground. It was about Pandy. He used words like funny, smart, loyal, lovely, and courageous. At least, Alcie determined, the bigger words he used meant exactly those same things. She felt herself getting ill. Suddenly, it occurred to Alcie that it was far too dark for him to be able to read anything: he’d memorized every word. And now he wanted her opinion; after all, she knew Pandy almost better than anyone in the world. How cruel this was. She hung her head, wanting to be anywhere else. The Chamber of Despair, the flames of Tartarus, anywhere. But something ugly inside made her stay until he finished, as if she wanted to see how bad it could actually get, this new feeling of her heart eating its way out of her chest.

  And then it was over.

  Neither of them moved.

  “I guess you don’t like it,” Homer said finally, the hand with the parchment dropping slowly to his side.

  “Prunes,” Alcie said to herself. Then she did the bravest thing, she was certain, she’d ever done. She raised her head and looked right at him.

  And she smiled.

  “It’s just wonderful,” she said. “It’s better than anything I’ve ever heard. And . . . and . . .”

  She paused, fighting back tears.

  “. . . I’m sure she’ll really, really like . . .”

  Then Homer bent way down and kissed her. Very softly. And rather fast. Not quite on her mouth, but close to it; close enough so she understood.

  “I’m sorry I did that,” he blurted out. “Okay . . . um . . . not really. But I just don’t know if I’ll get another chance . . . to tell you. You’re very cool. Uh . . . special. At least, I think so. Anyway, I hoped you’d like the poem.”

  “Huh?”

  Homer only smiled.

  As her heart thumped wildly, perfectly at home in her chest, Alcie thought of all the great moments in her life. The first time she laced her sandals by herself. The instant when she knew she and Pandy had become best friends. The day she heard four other girls in the Athens marketplace say that she had the prettiest eyes of anyone they knew. The moment she decided to help Pandy on her quest.

  This moment topped them all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The Private Tent

  10:08 p.m.

  “Alcie!”

  Iole and Pandy came running up to Alcie and Homer as a few of the performers began to filter back through the camp.

  “Oh good, Homer, you’re here too. Alcie, we’ve been looking all over—Gods!” Pandy interrupted herself. “Alcie . . . are you all right? You’ve been crying.”

  “Are you hurt?” asked Iole.

  Alcie smiled.

  “Not a bit,” she said. Hopping down from the cage, she stumbled back slightly only to be caught again by Homer.

  “Never been better,” she said with utmost sincerity. “What’s up?”

  “We have to find Wang Chun Lo,” said Pandy.

  “Pandy has an idea,” said Iole. “Although I still don’t think he’ll let us do it.”

  “Do what?” asked Alcie.

  “Come on,” said Pandy, heading off toward the other side of the camp.

  “Wait,” said Alcie. “If you want to find him, why don’t we just go back to the big orange?”

  “Tangerine,” said Iole.

  “Tangerine, orange! Figs, let’s just go back there.”

  “Because,” said Pandy, marching on, “that’s the show tent and the feast tent. It’s sort of the general, all-purpose tent, I think. He’s got to have private quarters and I’m going to find them.”

  “Well . . . all right then,” said Alcie, struggling to hurry. Without warning, Homer was at her right side, his hand almost imperceptibly on her elbow, guiding her straight ahead.

  They poked their heads into the pistachio, jar, and floor-pillow tents. All of them were still empty and there was no clue that any of these might be the private tent of Wang Chun Lo.

  Pandy was about to look into the sky-colored staircase tent when she caught the shiny gray mass of the slow-moving slug tent out of the corner of her eye. She dashed off in its direction.

  “Excuse me?” she said, calling up to the sentry at the head. “Excuse me, Shahriyar, is it? Hello?” Without even looking down, he pointed toward the rear of the slug, indicating that anyone who might speak to her would only be back there.

  She walked swiftly to the rear as Iole, Alcie, and Homer caught up.

  “What is this?” asked Alcie.

  “We didn’t see this when we got our tour,” said Iole.

  “It’s the sentry tent,” said Pandy. “Whatever you do, don’t walk in the slime trail.”

  “And you needed to warn me not to do that . . . why?” asked Alcie.

  “It’s the main protection for the camp,” said Pandy. “It will kill you instantly. Somehow, these men create it.”

  “Who are they?” asked Iole, looking up at the sentries.

  “We are the Caliphs! ‘Channels of Earthly Displeasure,’ ” cried Abdul-Rashid al Ahmed, glaring at Pandy. “Why have you returned, woman?”

  “I need your help,” said Pandy. “Can you tell me which tent belongs to Wang Chun Lo?”

  “I will tell you nothing,” snipped Abdul-Rashid. “Already because of you I must shave my head. And now you have brought other women with you? Wait.”

  He brandished his curved sword at Homer.

  “You there, are you a woman?”

  “No,” said Homer.

  “Then I shall speak only to you.”

  “You have got to be kidding,” said Alcie loudly.

  “Shh!” Pandy whispered. “We don’t have time to argue. Homer, will you ask him, please?”

  “Uh, can you tell me . . .”

  “I’m certain had he wanted you to know, he would have told you himself,” Abdul-Rashid interrupted, picking his teeth with the tip of his blade.

  “Tell him it’s very important,” whispered Pandy. “A matter of life and death!”

  Homer paused.

  “Noble sir,” he said. “It’s really . . . uh . . . not important at all. I just wanted to ask his advice on which of these . . . um . . . women would make the best serving girl. But you’re probably right. And when I see him tomorrow, I’ll tell him that you . . . y’know . . . thought the question wasn’t worth his time. I’ll tell him you made the decision for him. So, which one do you think should . . . uh . . . serve me?”

  “Brilliant,” mused Iole.

  Abdul-Rashid was silent so long that they all had to take several steps sideways to keep up with the slug.

  “The clearing,” he said finally.

  “The clearing, oh honorable one?” asked Homer.

  “Yes, of course. You see the tents arranged in a circle. Find the longest space between two tents. There you will find Wang Chun Lo.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Homer, bowing deeply before turning his back on the slug tent.

  “I hate him,” hissed Alcie, walking away.

  “I think you should take the little one,” called Abdul-Rashid from a distance. “The one who doesn’t speak much.”

  “That does it!” said Iole, whirling around.

  Homer caught her with his right hand while still piloting Alcie with his left; forcefully guiding both of them back toward the center of the camp.

  “There!” said Pandy, surveying the circle and noticing a wide gap between two tents.

  “There’s nothing here,” said Alcie, all four stepping cautiously into the empty clearing. “Unless Wang Chun Lo sleeps on the sand under the stars each night.”

  “There’s nobody even walking in this area,” Pandy said. “And it’s the shortest route from the main tent to the rest of the camp.”

  At that moment, she toppled face forward onto the ground—and her head completely disappeared.

  “Gods!” said Iole, moving forward. “Pandy!”

  “I’m fine,” she said, her head reappearing as she sat up, “but there’s something here.”

  “Where?” asked Iole.

  “Right here, right in front of me.”

  “She’s right,” said Iole holding out her hands. “It’s . . . it’s some sort of fabric. It’s a tent.”

  “Something else that’s invisible that we have to get around,” scoffed Alcie.

  “Or get into,” Pandy replied, grabbing hold of something unseen with her right hand and sticking her left arm through where it vanished. “How about right here?”

  She peeled back an invisible fabric flap, revealing the interior of a brilliantly lit pavilion.

  Huge red Chinese lanterns hung down from the top of the tent, which was massive in its size. As Pandy peered deep into the recesses, beyond the carved black lacquer chairs and the paper screens, her eye immediately caught sight of the five clear panels, resting on their stands off to one side.

  “Excuse me?” she called out. “May I speak to you, please?”

  As the four of them entered the tent, Pandy walked slowly to the panels, examining them carefully. As she went behind each, she asked, “Can you see me?”

  “Yes,” said Iole.

  “Now?”

  “Yes,” Homer answered.

  “Pandy, what are you thinking?” asked Alcie.

  “Do not tell them, little fish.” Wang Chun Lo was standing directly in front of her, hidden from the others behind a large red lacquered cabinet, communicating with his thoughts. “We shall discuss this privately.”

  At his motion to follow, Pandy held her hand up as a sign for the others to remain behind.

  She followed Wang Chun Lo through a maze of oddly carved furniture, hanging tapestries, cages of small monkeys, and the snow white birds she had seen in his act. He led her to a quiet area with a low table and chairs.

  “I have been expecting you,” he said silently. “I have followed your thoughts all over my camp tonight; my apologies for the rudeness of my sentry. I must say, you are an extremely resourceful girl with tremendous abilities. Were it not for your pursuit to rid the world of its evils, I should be happy to find a place for you in my caravan. Tea?”

  “No thank you, sir,” she thought. “There isn’t much time . . .”

  “I hope you shall discover, as you journey through life, that there is always time . . . for tea.”