Disclaimer:  I don't own anyone except for Sanar (sort of), Niala, the teachers, and nobody else.  Everything else belongs to the mastermind: Garth Nix.

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Lirael strapped on the goggles, green-tinted, and wrapped herself in oilskin.  She bound her black hair back, and settled herself in the cockpit of the Paperwing.  The straps were fastened in an "X" on her chest.  The aircraft was, indeed, made out of thousands of sheets of laminated paper, but it still supported her weight.  In her head, she summoned the Charter marks for "wind", "travel", and "speed" and cast them out.  "Finet!  Andec! Rau!" she cried, and the Paperwing started to rise.  She summoned an eastern wind with a small whistle, one that would carry her all the way to the Glacier.  The breeze tried to take hold of and control the Paperwing, but she gripped it firmly, not letting it go off course.  She grabbed the soapstone dog in her pocket to bring out her own courage, but it was not there.  She cursed loudly.  She had never taken it out of her pocket.  Ever.  She had left the soapstone dog back at the palace, and now she was in the air.  "I've left you!" she cried frantically, but couldn't delay because the Paperwing was already moving. 

"Left me?" said a familiar voice beside her.  "I don't think so."  Lirael turned to see a tan-and-black dog sitting on the seat by her.  She gasped.

"Dog!" she cried, letting up her whistled Charter marks to hug the Dog.  "Dog!  Dog!"

"You're letting the controls wreak havoc," remarked the Disreputable Dog dryly.  "You'd better get them or we'll be in the ocean before you can say 'Disreputable'."  Lirael calmed herself, still smiling brightly, and summoned more wind from the east   "Why are you going that way?" asked an annoyed Dog.  "Get a northern wind so we can go to Ancelstierre."

"But—But—we're not going to—" Lirael began to say, or rather yell, above the whipping wind.

"Yes, we are.  Now, what's for dinner?"

"Dinner?!" exclaimed Lirael.  "We're in a Paperwing to the Glacier and you want to know what's for dinner?!" she said, but reminded herself that the Dog's first words had been 'I am the Disreputable Dog. Or Disreputable Bitch, if you want to get technical.  When are we going for a walk?', proving that the Dog could change the subject to her liking in an instant. 

The Dog looked confused.  "Yes," she said slowly.  "Is there something wrong with that?  And, by the way, we're going to Ancelstierre, not the Glacier."

"Dog!  We're going to the Glacier!  You don't even know what we're going there for!

"Yes, I do," said the Disreputable Dog smugly.  "I read your letters."

A wave of exasperation came over Lirael, and she wondered how many times she had told the Disreputable Dog not to go in people's rooms while they were sleeping, and not to read people's personal letters.  "Why would we go to Ancelstierre anyways?" she shouted.  "We're going to visit the Clayr!"

"But we need to visit Sanar, or she'll feel left out.  Remember when you were fourteen?  You didn't want to feel left out."

"Yes, but—"

"No buts.  We're going to Ancelstierre."  The Dog let out a wild bark that contrasted sharply with the Paperwing's whistle, causing it to turn due south, and reminding Lirael that the Dog, just like Kibeth, was not everything she seemed to be.

*  *  *

            "Sanar, Sanar, wake up!  You're going to be late for Science!"  The dark haired girl lay in bed, unmoving, while another girl with red hair leaned over her, shaking her frantically.  "Sanar!  Now!"  The girl in bed rolled over.

            "Not now, Mummy," she mumbled.  The other girl slapped Sanar on the cheek and pulled her out of bed.  "Ow!" cried Sanar.  "Niala, what'd you do that for?"  The girl called Niala pointed at the clock, and Sanar gasped.  She swore something that Niala had never heard before; an Old Kingdom curse, no doubt.  She pulled on her uniform and clumsily pinned her badge on her chest (any girl seen without that badge during school hours would get extra chores).  She ran a wooden comb through her hair and grabbed a biscuit that she quickly stuffed in her mouth.  "Go now!" she said, mouth full of bread.  She pulled on her shoes in a clownish manner and raced out the door.  "Quick!" she yelled.  She tripped over her ankle and stumbled down the hall to the Science Wing; Niala followed at a run.  The door to the Science class was ajar—if they could just make it…Sanar stumbled over the threshold, causing Niala to trip over her own robes and come clattering down on top of her, creating a tangled mess of bodies.

            Sanar smiled weakly as their Science teacher, Mrs. Aranchal, cast a glare over to the doorway.  "Sanar, Niala," she said briskly.  "You're late."

"I know," murmured Sanar, keeping her eyes to the ground.  Mrs. Aranchal was known for doling out strict punishments, and being late was one of the worst offences. 

"Do you have your homework?" asked Mrs. Aranchal, her graying hair tousled.

"Homework?" repeated Sanar indignantly.  She looked at Niala, who just shrugged.  "What homework?"

Mrs. Aranchal eyed them both with colorless brown eyes under spectacles.  "I asked you to write a 600 word report on the stages of mitosis.  Do you have it?"

Sanar struck her head with her palm.  The report…of course.  How could she have forgotten?  "Oops," she said quietly.

"Oops," repeated Mrs. Aranchal, loud enough for everyone to hear.  "Is that all you have to say for yourself?"  Sanar slowly nodded.  "Then get to your seat.  You both have a week's worth of extra cleaning duties."

Sanar and Niala silently took their places in the dusty classroom.  Mrs. Aranchal was amazingly strict about tardiness in her classroom, but even stricter about turning in assignments.  Sanar had been planning to do the report on mitosis last night, but was up late studying, so had told herself that she would wake up early and finish the work.  The only flaw with that plan was that she had overslept.  She looked around, trying to slink back in her seat as much as possible.  Suddenly, Mrs. Aranchal clapped her hands together and barked, "Sanar!  Bad posture!  Sit up straight!"

Sanar straightened her back up so she rose inches above everybody else, whom were all slumping as well, though not as clearly as Sanar had been doing.  Mrs. Aranchal was a stout woman with uncreative brown eyes, framed by spectacles in the shapes of trapezoids and flyaway grey hair, which was cropped to the top of her ears.  She was amazingly strict, but supposedly, the older girls said, she grew on you.  Unfortunately, Sanar never seemed to be on her good side.  Mrs. Aranchal was droning on about anaphase, and Sanar was only half-listening, when the bell rang.  "Thank the Charter," muttered Niala, so quietly that only Sanar could hear. They got out of their seats, gathered their textbooks, and hurried to the next class.

During Fighting Arts, the last class of the day, they were just being introduced to staffs (all that happened during the First Form years was falling and basic defense mechanisms).  Sanar had just blocked her opponent, a girl named Imrah, when someone called her name.  She turned around, eyes searching for the speaker, when Imrah gave her a sharp, smarting rap on the head. 

"Ow!" she exclaimed.  "No fair; I was distracted."

"Sanar!" someone called again.  She noticed the voice was coming from the doorway of the gymnasium, where a tall girl stood. 

 "What?" she called back, annoyed that they had diverted her attention. 

"Mrs. Cipuce wants you."

Sanar stared at the girl, wondering what the headmistress might want with her.  "Cipuce?" she said, her voice trembling.  "What does Cipuce want?"

"Mrs. Cipuce," the girl corrected.  "And I don't know, I'm just the messenger.  Don't shoot me."

Sanar tossed her staff to Mrs. Andre, the Fighting Arts instructor, and followed the girl.  They walked in silence down the deserted corridors until they reached the headmistress' office.  The girl, whose badge proclaimed her to be a Fifth Form and a Prefect Secretary, followed her in.  A plump woman with brown hair piled luxuriously on top of her head sat smiling at the desk to greet them.  She had deep brown eyes and full red cheeks, to match her lips.  Sanar bowed her head.  "Mrs. Cipuce."

"Sanar," said the woman in an amazingly rich alto voice.  She nodded for the Prefect Secretary to leave.  "How nice to see you," she said in that same deep voice.  "I called you here to discuss an important matter with you.  You are from the Old Kingdom, no?"  Sanar nodded in agreement.  Mrs. Cipuce sighed.  "And do the girls here at Wyverly…believe you?" 

"Some do," said Sanar slowly, and thought of Sula.  "Others don't."

"How do they not believe you?  I mean to say, what do they say to discourage the fact that you are from the Old Kingdom?"

Sanar shrugged.  "They just say that I'm a little liar and that I'm making it all up."

"Would you like to name names?"

"No, ma'am," said Sanar very quickly, thinking of what Sula might do or say if she tattled. 

"I see," said Mrs. Cipuce, making a small note on her paper.  "That is all for now, except for one more thing, if you wish to see it."  A small smile was forming on the edge of her red lips.  "If you don't mind, Sanar, I think you have a visitor."  She led Sanar into a back room where a tall woman with pale skin and dark hair was sitting. 

"Mother!" cried Sanar, rushing towards the woman and embracing her.  Lirael returned the hug.

"It's good to see you, Sanar."

"It's been ages," murmured Sanar.  "But how did you get here from Belisaere?  Did you walk the entire way?"

Lirael chuckled.  "Walk?  From Belisaere?  Heavens, no.  I took a Paperwing."

Sanar's eyes widened with delight and awe.  "A—A Paperwing?  A real one?  It is still here?  Can I see it?"

"See it?  You'll be riding in it soon enough."  Sanar looked quizzically at her mother, silently begging for an explanation.  "I'm taking you to the Old Kingdom."

Sanar gasped.  "You are?  But you can't!  It's the middle of the term!  I can't just leave! I'll fail my classes!"

Lirael grinned.  "I obtained Mrs. Cipuce's special permission for you to come with me.  It'll be like you never missed a class."

"Really?  But why are you taking me to the Old Kingdom?  I assume it's not for a vacation and tour, otherwise you would have done it during the summer holidays."

"You assumed right.  But you'll see when we get there.  First, at least, we're going to Belisaere.  You'd better go pack."

"Thank you, Mother!" cried Sanar.  "I'd love to see the Old Kingdom!  Everybody always leaves me here and only visits from time to time!  I barely even remember cousin Sameth!"

Lirael averted her eyes.  "Well, you probably won't see Sam—or Ellimere, either.  They're both away, but you will see Touchstone!  And your home!"

"Yes," murmured Sanar.  "My home."    

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Good, no?  Just in case anybody wants to know, I based Mrs. Aranchal after an exaggeration of mine own science teacher, who coincidentally has a name very similar to that…Also, Mrs. Cipuce's name was taken from how I spelled "seapoose" in our mock spelling bee.  But seriously, what kind of a word is "seapoose"?  Sorry that it's taken me so long to post, when I've actually gotten reviews.  If you would like to check out some of my other work on www.fictionpress.com, I would be grateful.  My penname is the same.

Lots of huggles!!

Heather