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able to do. And mankind would grow angry with him—and they would grow sad, and that anger and sorrow needed someplace to go, and so it would be Ehco’s job to consume it and keep it in his body so that it didn’t destroy the world. He was a small thing then, but soon the ocean would be the only thing big enough to contain him. And eventually he divided himself into pieces—a bit in each ocean.”
    Pen cranes her neck to get a view of the water in the distance. “Your ocean does seem to go on forever,” she says, “but I don’t think it’s big enough to contain all the anger and the sorrow in the world.”
    “They’re only stories,” Birdie says. “People live their lives devoted to them. My father made us memorize passages from The Text , but even as a girl I never believed them. Except maybe for Ehco.”
    “Why just Ehco?” I say.
    “Because when I see anger and sadness,” Birdie says, “I can’t believe it’s for nothing. I like the idea that there’s a great monster in the sea who keeps all the bad thoughts so we can let them go.”
    She has slowed a pace behind us, and Pen and I stop to take her hands as we make our way back to the hotel.

    I had worried about sneaking past the princess upon our return, but her bed is empty and neatly made up. Early gray light follows us in through the window.
    “She can’t still be meeting with your father,” Pen says.
    Birdie opens the door and looks out into the hallway. “Nope. Fireplace is out,” she whispers. “Father is always the one to put it out before he goes to bed.” She lurches in an unfortunate and familiar way, and, hand over mouth, she staggers off for the water room. They call it a bathroom down here, but that doesn’t make much sense, as the bath is only a small part of the room’s purpose.
    Pen falls facedown on her bed with a groan. “I’d say I’ll feel this in the morning, but it’s already morning, and I already do.”
    I help her under the covers. “What do you suppose that princess is off doing?” she mumbles into her pillow.
    I fall gratefully into my bed. “Whatever it is, we can’t let on that we knew she was gone.”
    “She’s only a princess,” Pen says. “We’re queens now, remember.”
    I close my eyes and see Internment cloaked in silver. Everyone has black lips and ringed eyes. The train pulls across the screen, and I’m not awake to see the last car go by.

6

    “Up and at ’em!” Annette says, knocking on our door as she makes her rounds through the hotel. She’s done this every morning since we arrived. I hear the phrase echo what seems to be a thousand times as she knocks on all the doors.
    Pen whimpers and pulls the blanket over her head.
    Celeste stirs in the bed across from mine. She must have come in sometime after Pen and I snuck in, and though she makes no complaint, I can see by her heavy feet and her bleary eyes that she’s worse off for it.
    “Morgan,” she says. “Did your father ever mention anything about the glasslands to you?”
    “Why would he?” I say. I crane my neck to have a look at myself in the mirror, and what I see is enough to make me want to stay in bed.
    “I just assumed that as a patrolman he might have been called there.”
    “He didn’t discuss his work with me,” I say. The throbbing in my head steals my attention from the aching in my chest; she speaks so casually of my father, when her father is the reason he’s dead.
    Celeste moves behind the changing screen, and moments later her nightgown has been flung upon its edge.
    “Don’t suppose you’d know much about your father’s work there, Margaret,” she says.
    “Never call me that,” Pen says from beneath her covers. “And what would you know about my father’s work?”
    “I make it a point to know about the people of Internment,” Celeste answers pertly.
    “Well, then,” Pen says. “You know I think you should take a running jump from that window there.”
    “He works there, doesn’t he?”