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  “What can I say?” Jonas asked with a happy-sounding sigh. “I was inspired.”

  “You’re a bastard, is what you are,” Zayle grumbled.

  “Come on, that was all years ago,” Jonas said with a wave of his hand. “We came back to get you away from the irate Italian, didn’t we?”

  “Yeah, we were just having a little fun,” Luca added.

  Zayle shook his head and looked to Twist. “I’m telling you, Twist. Watch these two.”

  “I shall, thank you,” Twist muttered, still staring at Jonas in alarm. “I had no idea you had such a dastardly streak in you.”

  Jonas’s smile turned wicked when he looked to Twist. “Right. Because I’m a nice pirate.”

  Twist gave an uncertain tone and glanced away, while Luca laughed again.

  “You know, I’ve got to say,” Luca began, looking to Zayle, “I can’t fathom how these two are such good friends. Jonny’s a scoundrel rogue to his core, and this one is a prim city dandy! Talk about the lion and the lamb.”

  Twist grimaced at the analogy. “We can hardly both be scoundrels,” he said simply. “There would be no one to bail the other out of prison.”

  “Fair point,” Jonas said with a chuckle. “Remember that, lads,” he said to Luca and Zayle. “Be sure you’ve got yourself a dandy you can count on in a tight spot.”

  Zayle laughed and shook his head. “Don’t try to understand them, Luca. You’ll just give yourself a headache.”

  “Probably,” Luca conceded, still studying Twist and Jonas in turn with appraising dark eyes. “But you know, if you really look at them, they’re looking less different all the time. Why, Twist’s coat’s not buttoned up, I see no tie or cravat, and is that a scar on his hand? He’s not so much of a dandy at the moment.”

  Somewhat uneasy with being suddenly examined, Twist unconsciously covered the scar on the back of his right hand with his left and sat up a bit straighter.

  “Yeah…” Zayle said slowly, examining Twist now too. “Look, he’s getting a bit scruffy as well. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was starting to turn pirate.”

  “I most certainly am not,” Twist grumbled while Jonas snickered. He did reach up to his face, however, and found that although he could sometimes get away with not shaving for a few days, at this point he really could use a proper going-over. “Damn mirrors…” he said to himself with a sigh.

  “Oh yes,” Luca said thoughtfully. “You can’t look at mirrors until we get that blood off of your skin, can you? Now that I think of it, how do you shave?”

  “Not very well, apparently,” Twist muttered.

  With his Sight, he’d of course never gone to a barber; the thought of letting someone else drag a razor blade across his skin had always been disturbing. Nevertheless, maybe he could ask Myra to have a go at it for him, the same way that she’d cut his hair for him recently. Then again, he couldn’t be sure she’d ever tried to do anything similar, and there was no telling what the results might be.

  “Well, you bring up a good point,” Jonas said. “We should probably do something before he really starts turning pirate.”

  Twist glanced to him, suddenly uneasy.

  “What’s wrong with turning pirate?” Luca asked back with a jeering smile. “I thought pirates were the highest form of life.”

  “You said it yourself,” Jonas answered with a smile. “Twist is the dandy, and I’m the pirate. If he turns into the pirate, then I’ll have to become the dandy, and I just don’t have the wardrobe for it.”

  Luca grinned and shook his head.

  Zayle laughed. “Naturally! That’s only logical.”

  “Well,” Jonas said with a smile as he moved to get to his feet, “enjoy the music. We’ll be back in a moment. Come on, Twist. I’ll fix you up.”

  “What?” Twist asked, not moving.

  “You heard me,” Jonas said, shooing him to stand up. “On your feet, you scruffy lout.”

  Twist realized quickly that it would be pointless to protest. He gave a sigh but got up and followed beside Jonas. Zayle and Luca waved with smiles, clearly not bothered to be left behind. Jonas led Twist back down to the second deck and into his own cabin. He told Twist to sit at the low table that stood in the middle of the otherwise open floor. Twist took one of the flat cushions to sit on and waited for Jonas to finish busying about in a wooden chest near the door.

  “Really, I’m all right,” Twist tried hopefully.

  “We’re going to Paris today,” Jonas said, sitting beside him. “A man’s got to look his best in that city, or he’ll stand out a mile.”

  He placed a little bowl of water and soap on the table next to a small brush with a carved ivory handle and put a towel and razor blade beside them.

  “I don’t remember you dressing to impress the Parisians, the last time we went there,” Twist mentioned.

  Jonas gave him a smirk while he used the brush to work up a bit of lather in a bowl. “I may be a rogue, but I’m a naturally dashing rogue.”

  “Of course,” Twist muttered, rolling his eyes. “My mistake.”

  “Right,” Jonas said, reaching out to take Twist’s chin in one hand. “No squirming.”

  Twist decided to simply let Jonas do as he wished. He snapped his eyes closed when Jonas raised the razor blade up to his face and did his very best not to twitch. It felt utterly strange to let the other man shave him, but the fog in Jonas’s touch remained calm, cool, and white as always. When Jonas announced that he was finished, Twist opened his eyes.

  “Here,” Jonas said, handing him the towel. “You’re right pretty again.”

  “Thanks,” Twist said, mostly thankful that the job was done, as he wiped the last of the lather from his face with the towel. Hopefully, he would be able to get the dragon’s blood off of his skin before he started to look too shabby again.

  Jonas took the towel back from him as Twist reached up to feel at his now-naked face with his fingers. Twist glanced at the razor for an instant, as Jonas cleaned it with the towel, and caught a flash of blue in the reflective surface. Twist snapped his eyes away, his heart shuddering in his chest.

  “What?” Jonas asked, looking to him quickly.

  “Nothing,” Twist said, careful not to look anywhere near the razor. Jonas gave him a warning look. “It’s just…” Twist began, fearful of a lecture on not sharing. “Well, it’s reflective,” he said with a wave to the razor.

  Jonas looked to the blade in disgust. “Seriously? Even this tiny little bit of shiny metal?” He closed the razor into its handle sharply, covering the reflective surface.

  “It’s all right,” Twist said. “I only saw a shadow of blue before I looked away. Nothing more. I’m fine. Really.”

  Jonas nodded, looking back to him with a weak smile. “Good. But we have really got to get you to that damn gypsy camp.”

  The day progressed rather slowly, while France flew by below. Twist watched the lush, green fields glide by languidly, dotted here and there with stone villages and towns and occasional gray, craggy castles. There were forests and larger cities as well, but the country struck Twist overall as calm, quiet, and remarkably civil. Long before they reached Paris, however, the peaceful meadows gave way to cities that grew denser, larger, and closer together.

  Eventually, there was nothing but city below. Meandering streets and wandering rivers were the only things to break up the complete carpet of civilization. A few hours past midday, Twist began to recognize the Seine River, as it cut its distinctive route through the oldest and more decorative part of Paris. He smiled, spying the Notre Dame Cathedral on one of the two teardrop islands in the middle of the Seine.

  The Vimana continued north and approached the brilliant, white face of the castle-like Sacre Coeur cathedral, which stood atop the highest hill in the city. White-painted wrought iron rose from the open, sloping land below the massive church, holding the airship docks up to meet the air traffic. Pale wood platforms and decorative arching canopies of colored
glass floated above, shading the hillside like lily pads in the sky.

  The entire structure looked as weightless as the docked airships, the pristine white stairways and catwalks flowing as elegantly as the cool breeze off the summit. A wide park filled the hillside below the airship docks, and Twist spied people strolling the paths under the cool and colorful shadows. And behind him, Twist turned to see the whole of Paris sparkling in the bright sunlight. Twist could only smile to see that the Parisians had turned their airship docks into a work of art.

  The moment the Vimana was tied securely to the airship docks, everyone on board spilled out into the city streets, each one seeking their own entertainments. The Frenchmen stole Philippe, Aazzi, and Howell away without any difficulty at all. Myra took Twist’s arm as they followed the rest of the crew out into the gentle echoes under the glass-covered docks and strolled toward the city.

  “So,” Jonas said, turning swiftly to Twist with a tight smile and pleading moss-green eyes. “What do you say to a good drink on the banks of the Seine, Twist?”

  “Why, yes,” Twist replied. “A nice drink sounds like a capital idea.”

  “Oh, can I come?” Arabel asked, suddenly, her hand raised eagerly.

  Twist turned quickly, surprised to find that she, Idris, and Jeffery had all followed close behind them.

  “Of course, dear!” Myra agreed.

  Jonas gave a quiet huff, shooting Myra a sour glance—which she failed to notice—but didn’t object.

  “You lot would probably be the most entertaining to share a drink with,” Idris mentioned listlessly.

  Twist watched in mild fascination as Idris’s form rippled like the surface of a pond; Jeffery didn’t seem o have any trouble keeping his seat atop Idris’s shoulder while this happened. When the djinn’s form solidified again, his long white robes and blue turban had all been replaced by a fashionable pale linen suit that fit him impeccably, a shining white waistcoat, and a white silk top hat.

  “Oh, that’s very smart,” Myra offered to Idris.

  “Thank you, princess,” Idris replied, smiling widely at the compliment.

  “Shall we, then?” Twist asked, turning back to Jonas.

  “Let’s hail a cab,” Jonas replied, leading them all toward a line of waiting cabs, off to one side of the park.

  As they rode through the busy city streets, Twist watched Paris speed by in a blur. It seemed like little time at all before he stepped out of the cab and found himself standing across the river from another cathedral, this time the Notre Dame. Jonas insisted that the best cafes were in this area, and so he, Twist, Myra, Arabel, Idris, and Jeffery strolled along the cobblestone street beside the Seine until Jonas picked a cafe.

  They all settled in, taking a few street-side tables. When a very well-dressed waiter appeared, Idris replied in French. Jonas and Myra spoke up as well, apparently following the conversation easily.

  “What would you like, dear?” Myra asked Twist suddenly.

  “I have no idea,” Twist answered with a shrug.

  Jonas grinned at him, his eyes the same color as the midday sky. “Do you trust me?”

  “Always, old boy,” Twist answered easily.

  Jonas smiled at this and spoke to the waiter again. Arabel also seemed to order something, still speaking French, and the waiter left when they were finished, with a curt nod.

  “What did you order?” Twist asked.

  “You’ll find out,” Jonas answered mysteriously.

  “It sounded nice,” Myra offered, as an obvious attempt to calm any anxiety.

  Idris chuckled. “I was right. You three even make ordering a drink entertaining.”

  Twist chuckled, deciding not to press. It would be more fun to find out what he would be getting.

  Just as the waiter reappeared with a tray full of drinks, however, the pendant watch that Myra wore gave a sudden buzzing sound. Startled but just as swiftly delighted, she took the watch into her hands and opened the face. One more swift motion brought a bright, blue light to shine on her face from within the little watch.

  “Myra?” a slightly metallic and echoed version of Skye’s voice asked. “Have you got time to talk?”

  “Skye! Hello, darling!” Myra replied with obvious glee, speaking into the light. “Yes, I can talk. We’re just in Paris now.”

  While Myra and Skye continued to talk together, the waiter left again after the others offered a few “mercis” and Twist picked up the glass that had been placed before him. The small wineglass appeared to contain a rich, rosy-colored wine. He sniffed at it experimentally.

  “It’s called kir,” Jonas offered before sipping at his own glass of what seemed to be the same thing. He gave a pleased tone at the flavor. “It’s a mix of cassis and chablis.”

  Armed with this information, Twist tried a sip as well. The flavor was, indeed, delightfully sweet and fruity, cut gently by the tartness of the wine.

  “Do you still trust me?” Jonas asked with a smirk.

  “I never doubted you for a moment,” Twist replied.

  Jonas chuckled, clearly happy with this outcome.

  Twist took a deep breath, put his glass down on the tiny cafe table, and let his vision settle on the towering gothic face of the Notre Dame cathedral, which stood directly across the Seine, in the bright light and blue sky of late afternoon.

  Still speaking to Myra through the watch, Skye expressed her curiosity at what Myra planned to do in Paris, before beginning to relate some of her own experiences there. Myra spoke happily to her, relating her own as well. Twist was happy to see her joy and made no attempt to draw Myra’s attention out of her conversation, while the others started up a conversation of their own.

  Men and women wearing the highest fashions strolled by the cafes that faced the streets, displaying themselves like peacocks while appearing perfectly aloof to the attention. The sounds of light conversation in French, the clatter of cabs and hooves on the cobblestones, and the occasionally passing riverboats, wove together into a delightfully lively atmosphere that put Twist’s spirit fully at ease.

  As he took in a long, contented breath of the Parisian air—scented as it was with the nearby patisserie and a small garden full of flowers just down the street—Twist mused on the fact that this French city always intrigued and comforted him. Perhaps he’d lived here in a previous life. Perhaps Paris remembered him.

  Myra said good-bye to her watch and closed the face of it with a sigh, shutting off the light, stirring Twist’s languid attention. He glanced at his companions: Jonas seated beside him, Myra at his other side, Arabel sharing another of the tiny tables—which filled the space between the cafe and the street—with Idris and Jeffery.

  He suddenly noticed that Jeffery’s attire had changed at some point as well, and the baboon now wore a suit that matched Idris’s smart, fashionable, cream-colored outfit, complete with a matching tiny silk top hat. Arabel still wore her usual more masculine attire of trousers instead of a dress, but Twist noticed that she seemed to have smartened up her outfit for Paris. Even Myra wore a pretty, summery, pink cotton gown and a ruff-edged pink jacket, to better fit among the Paris fashions.

  “I’m serious!” Idris went on, speaking to the others as they smiled widely. “I swear, I’ll never look at marmalade the same way again.”

  The others laughed, prompting Twist to pretend his own amusement, though he had no idea what the djinn was talking about. The conversation played on in pleasant tones as everyone joined in to relate funny moments from their own nostalgic memories. Twist kept quiet as he listened, enjoying the day to its fullest. It wasn’t long before they all found their glasses empty and their feet restless. It was an easy decision to take a stroll along the walkway by the river, now that the streets were getting more crowded as the afternoon deepened.

  They crossed the road and then descended the stairs that led to one of two long brick promenades that followed the river on either side, below high walls that held back the streets above. Groups of de
licate green trees dotted the route, while the stately city buildings peeked down on them from above. Low riverboats glided by in the deepening night, slipping through the rippling reflections of the city and the deep blue sky.

  Twist held Myra’s clockwork hand in the crook of his arm, enjoying her contented emotions that spilled into his Sight, and he ticked his walking stick in time with his steps. While Idris seemed to match their decorum well, walking proudly with Jeffery seated on his shoulder in his own dignified pose, the others—a pirate and an ex-gypsy treasure hunter, after all—ambled along with them in their own careless fashions.

  Arabel leaped suddenly up onto the low stone wall at the edge of the green river and walked along atop it as if it were a balancing beam, while Jonas watched her with a wicked grin.

  “I really shouldn’t shove her in, should I?” he asked Twist in an urgent whisper. “That would be wrong, wouldn’t it?”

  Arabel stopped and stared at her brother with a warning glare.

  “Goodness, yes!” Twist answered with a laugh. “She would surely tear you to pieces if you did.”

  “Worth it,” Idris offered with a grin.

  Jeffery shot him a startled glance.

  “Oh, the temptation…” Jonas murmured with a grin.

  Still glaring at Jonas, Arabel jumped down again to walk properly on the promenade before Jonas succumbed. They all continued on without incident, much to Twist’s relief.

  “This is a much nicer way to enjoy this city,” Jeffery mentioned, smiling up at the heavily decorated stone bridge that they walked under. “It’s hard to sense what a city is really like, looking out from a coach.”

  “Oh yes,” Jonas mentioned, surprised. “I forgot. You and Idris came with us, the last time we were here.”

  Twist’s memory replayed their previous visit to the French capital. They had been running from the Rooks at the time, trying to keep Myra out of their hands. Their only hope had been to seek out Philippe’s uncle, a mechanical expert whose opinion the Rooks would respect. The plan had failed utterly when the man had unwittingly betrayed them, and Twist had been kidnapped away to London.