Dome Nine

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  A gigantic, red-orange moon was hanging in the sky as we lifted off from the gryphon’s nest. Luma shared Droogie’s saddle with me, at my insistence, seated behind me with her arms clamped around my waist. Dogan shared Schmoogie’s saddle with Bim, sitting in back. He was spared the indignity of holding onto Bim’s waist, using his arms instead to cradle Moto, who remained asleep.

  Flying with the Three helped me experience the thrill of it. Luma didn’t know whether to laugh or scream and ended up blending the two sounds into one. Disguising his fear, Dogan whooped and hollered as though his team had just won the big game. Bim wore a silent smile, wider than I’d ever seen.

  The gryphons soared along gracefully as the landscape rolled by below, bathed in rust colored moonlight. The geometric structures of Baltimore and its suburbs quickly gave way to countryside. We sailed southward, following the glowing green scar of I95.

  When we neared the Washington Dome, we veered away from the highway and approached it at its northern rim, swooping in through UNK/C’s hole. We skimmed across the Fruitlands, just above the treetops, following the path the helicopters had taken. Droogie and Schmoogie touched down on South Lawn at 9:22 PM.

  The gryphons were clearly hungry now. As we tied their reins to the trees, they tried to fill their stomachs with shriveled blue leaves. The Three set off for the White House kitchen, in search of shay and breadfruit, and I set off for the Nightingale Clinic, carrying Moto and my ax, in search of a bed.

  Dr. Nightingale greeted me cheerfully, working away at her looms, back in good spirits. She asked about my ax, which had been stained with Queen Scarlett’s blood. It was now two-toned, red on one side and silver on the other, as though painted that way. Unaware these were bloodstains, she told me it looked pretty.

  She asked if I knew where Thomas had disappeared to. I told her in all honesty that I hadn’t any idea, and left it at that. By then, it was 9:26. I excused myself and went into the Green Room, choosing the same bed I’d taken the night before. Placing Moto at the foot, I stowed my ax and backpack below and climbed under the covers.

  I spent the remaining minutes thinking about Thomas. The last time Bim and Dogan had seen him, the emergency power had just snapped on. He had already led them through the blackness to the elevator. It had been his idea for them to wait inside until Queen Scarlett called it to her floor, and for Dogan to strike first, allowing Bim to slip off unnoticed. He never mentioned what he planned to do himself.

  Had he followed them up? Had he waited and listened out in the hallway, prepared to intervene if the situation became hopeless? He couldn’t have, because the situation had become hopeless. No, he must have sent Bim and Dogan up and walked off into the night.

  I don’t think there’s anything here to draw him back to DC. He’ll probably find another city with a larger clinic and serve a purpose there. In all likelihood, I’ll never see him again.

  I have no idea why this should trouble me so.

  Entry complete.

  Part Five: Cassius