"Be warned," thought Verticule darkly. "This will be no easy task, to so thoroughly fool creatures that can hear the unspoken."

"But we have your expertise," said Bron.

"That is true," said Verticule. "All the same, I cannot guarantee success. What I can guarantee is that if this fails, we are all dead."

The little nightwaif turned. "You ask how we are to do this, Celestia Drave? Well, it's all about controlling your thoughts. Here in New Edgelands, sight counts for nothing. We are visible only through the chatter of our minds."

"So does that mean we should simply think about nothing?" inquired Bron.

Verticule chuckled. "Certainly not. It's impossible. I'll prove it…try to project no thoughts whatsoever."

Bron tried as hard as he could. A few seconds later, Verticule said, "There, you see? You were thinking very strongly about the act of not thinking. Since you can't think about nothing, you must instead think things which will not attract the attention of the other waifs."

"What about you?" Bron asked, to cover his embarrassment. "You're the mastermind behind the scheme. Surely you'll have a tough time hiding all that."

"Oh, don't you worry about me. Remember, we waifs can underthink. As long as I am underthinking, no one can hear me unless I want them to hear me. The trouble will be to conceal your thoughts, because only thought-hearing creatures can underthink."

Verticule turned around again. "No, Durix Hentadile, it won't be impossible. For there is something any creature can do to conceal his or her thoughts. It is known as overthinking, and, though crude, it should conceal you. You must focus your mind upon something in your surroundings, and, if you do it properly, you will be indistinguishable from the thing itself."

"What shall we impersonate?" asked Bron.

"Waifs," said Verticule. "There are many down here, of course. They won't look twice at you. Go ahead, practice being a waif."

Bron thought hard about waifs, and how he was one himself. Yes, he was a waif, one of many in New Edgelands, and…

"No, no, Bron Rackis, they'll see through that in an instant," admonished Verticule.

"What?" thought Bron, confused. "But I concentrated as hard as I could upon…"

"Consider, Bron. Imagine wearing a very convincing costume that made you appear to be a cloddertrog, and strolling into a cloddertrog settlement with the intent to blend in. But now, imagine that you're screaming 'I'm a cloddertrog! I'm a cloddertrog!' the whole time. Don't you think that would be suspicious? It's the same kind of thing here…if you focus solely upon the thought that you are a waif, the other waifs will immediately suspect you're hiding something…that perhaps you are not a waif…"

"Well, then," thought Bron, now quite frustrated, "how am I to pretend to be a waif without thinking about being one?"

"You've got to think the sort of thoughts a waif would have," said Verticule. "It's not as tough as it sounds…though it certainly requires a lot of focus. You just need to recall whatever perceptions you've seen other waifs experience, and parrot them. Once in a while, you might want to slip in a thought reminding everyone that you're a waif, but only very occasionally."

He turned to the others. "Does everyone understand?"

They all nodded.

"Now, let's see," said Verticule thoughtfully. "How do we stop the glow?"He turned to Raziel, and smiled. "Ah…when you were aboard the Mollus Leddix, you found a Cover of Darkness in the hold. Ingenious!"

Raziel reached into her pocket and pulled out a black, wispy piece of nightspider silk. When unfurled, it was large enough to completely cover the wearer. She slipped it around the old fourthling, and his glow faded.

"All right, then…let's head for the Hangar!"

Bron, Celestia, Durix, Raziel, and the ancient prisoner left the room, following Verticule's underthoughts. Bron concentrated with all his might, trying to make his thoughts sound as waiflike as possible.

"How long I have been grateful for this place," he thought, imagining that he was speaking in a sibilant hiss. "Sanctuary to all waifs, deep within the eternal darkness below the Edge…"

Good, good, Bron, you've got it, underthought Verticule. Celestia, try to sound bitterer as you think about that particular aspect…

"Yet that blasphemous prisoner still dares to contaminate our peace with his demonic glow," snarled Bron inside his head.

Try to avoid thinking about that, Bron,cut in Verticule. Down here, waifs try not to think much about him, and they usually do so in underthoughts anyway. Same goes for you, Durix.

They were now back outside, the omnipresent howl of wind around the city returning in full force. Bron knew now that he was being listened to, by hundreds of ears…but he immediately pushed the thought away, resuming his overthinking.

"Yes, we waifs are fortunate to have this home," thought Bron. "A place that suits us and us alone. Here, no one can touch us, and no one can harm us. I never grow tired of dwelling upon this comforting fact."

Nice touch, adding that last part, said Verticule. Again, most of the things you are thinking typically aren't broadcast so freely, so it was clever to imply that you know that. But still, anything any of you think will be suspicious to some degree, so we should hurry.

As they scurried down the pitch-black avenues and streets of New Edgelands, Bron began to hear the voices of other waifs, cutting into his mind and disrupting his thoughts. "You are quite right, of course," said one. "I couldn't have put it better myself," said another. Yet for all their polite agreement, Bron detected something else behind the waifs' words.

Don't stop! said Verticule urgently. You're right—they're beginning to get suspicious—so the last thing we need is for you to worry!

"My friends and I are hungry," thought Bron. "Oh, but I wish it was easier to get food here. That we must still flit in and out of the Empire fills me with dread, for I hear dark thoughts all around me when we visit the Deepwoods. All the same, we are still one step ahead of any Phraxguardian…"

The sounds changed, giving way to hollow echoes that suggested they were in a very large building. This is the Hangar, said Verticule. I know that our ancient friend is familiar with skycrafting; he has never done it before, but he knows the theory from observing others. And you, Raziel, you know too. Now…

"Don't worry,"thought Bron. "The three of us received basic training as apprentices in Omniphrax."

YOU FOOL! bellowed Verticule's voice in Bron's head. THEY HEARD YOU!

There was a sudden whistling noise from behind Bron. He ducked, and heard the sound of a blackroot-oil dart whooshing over his head, its deadly tip missing him by inches.

The old fourthling threw aside the Cover of Darkness, bathing the Hangar with light. Half a dozen waif assassins were thrown into sharp relief. They staggered backwards, clutching at their eyes…but Bron knew that they had very little time.

"Everyone pick a skycraft!" screamed Verticule in their heads. The five of them each ran to a skycraft and jumped into the stirrups. As one, they lowered their nether-sails and expanded their loft-sails, and the little sumpwood crafts rose off the ground.

These skycraft were nothing like the ones Bron had piloted during his brief apprenticeship at the Library of Wood Flight. The numerous thick coats of varnish, far more than a Librarian Knight would ever have used, offered incredible stability and speed, but very little agility. Murtus Lodd's three-seater, the Banderbear, turned at the Most High Librarian's lightest touch; here, Bron grunted with exertion as he guided the skycraft towards the entrance. Now, they were outside, gliding low over the streets. The icy wind tore through Bron's hair and snatched his breath away.

"Don't let them escape!" screamed another voice. It was Kilfitresse. She was pointing at them, and Bron knew that the waif assassins were taking aim once more. He pulled the skycraft upwards, dodging an invisible volley of lethal projectiles from the waifs' blowpipes.

Soon, the shrieking, oath-filled thoughts of Kilfitresse faded away. They had done it. They had made it out of New Edgelands, and this time, they were really going back to Omniphrax!

"Will Kilfitresse send anyone after us?" shouted Celestia, almost inaudible over the wind.

"I don't think so," came a deep voice, cracked with age. It took Bron a few seconds to realize that it was the glowing fourthling who had spoken. "Their priority is to survive. At this point, they would only waste resources going after us."

"He is right," came the thoughts of Verticule. "We will not be attacked anymore. But our priority now is to find the Northern Lower Open Sky Jet Stream."

"The what?" called out Durix.

"The winds down here below the Edge may appear to be chaotic and turbulent," explained Verticule, "but there is a complex, ordered connection of air currents down here. Edge wraiths and other denizens of the void rely on them to guide them to new cliff walls; as food is so limited down in Lower Open Sky, any creature that calls this place home has to constantly stay on the move. These currents range from small, regular gusts to colossal tunnels of wind that can blow at thousands of strides a second. The latter includes the Northern Lower Open Sky Jet Stream, which originates at the northern flank of the Nightwoods, rounds the great overhang below the Stone Gardens, and continues off to the southwest. If we catch that current, we can arrive at Omniphrax in a matter of hours…but sailing with a current that strong is extremely dangerous, even in thickly-varnished waif skycraft."

"How close are we to the current?" asked Raziel nervously. Even she found this plan frightening.

"We're not far," replied Verticule. "Just remember, don't try to steer. And grip your skycraft as hard as you can."

After a few more minutes, Verticule's thoughts shouted out in their heads, "The Jet Stream is directly above us! Fly straight up until we are swept into the current."

As they rose, Bron suddenly became aware of a high-pitched howling above them. It grew louder and louder, until finally…

"WHOOOOAAAA!"

Bron shot forwards like a leadwood bullet from a phraxpistol. Gripping the neck of his little sumpwood skycraft for dear life, Bron saw his friends on either side of him out of the corner of his eyes, illuminated by the old fourthling's glow, looking as terrified as he felt. The screaming of the wind was on all sides, and the skycraft bucked and jolted, but Bron refused to let go.

They continued in this vain for a few hours. Once the shock had worn off, Bron actually began to enjoy himself. He felt as though he was speeding away from his troubles, his worries, his fears…from all the terrible things that had happened to him since the Squallskipper had crashed in the Deadwoods.

"Yeeeee-HAAAA!" he shouted. He could just hear Celestia and Raziel laughing. Even Durix, who had struggled terribly ever since leaving Twilight's Edge, looked as though he was enjoying himself now. But Verticule and the old fourthling still looked grim and determined.

"We are approaching the hardest part of the journey,"said Verticule. "Exiting the current. Due to the way the current twists and turns, we need to time our move precisely. Too early, and we'll be launched into the side of the Edge cliff at full force. Too late, and we'll be spat out into the sky beyond the farthest point of the Edge, from which there will be no escape."

Bron's stomach plummeted. If they were to die now, after they had come so far…

"All right, everyone," said Verticule. "Everyone guide their skycraft to the top edge of the Jet Stream. Soon, we'll be taken above the pitch-black layer of the Edge cliff."

Bron pulled hard on his sail ropes, slowly bringing the skycraft up through the rushing air. He suddenly felt his hair graze the warmer, stationary air above.

And then, the darkness began to lift. The sky turned from black, to dark blue, to purple, to gray, and then to dazzling white. Suddenly, they all broke through the surface of the cloud layer, and were zooming through clear blue sky, the vast Edge cliff visible to their right.

"NOW!" thought Verticule. As one, the six pilots yanked on the ropes with all their might. All of the skycraft shot out of the current at an angle, and quickly lost momentum.

"It's safe to ascend above the cliff now," said Verticule. "We are in Omniphrax."

A thrill of excitement, relief, and uncontrollable giddiness stole through Bron. They had really, really done it now! They were home!

"It's more beautiful than I remembered," sighed Celestia, as they rose above the top of the Edge, and the city came into view. Old Undertown. The four great floating rocks. The miniature Stack Cities of the Stone Gardens. The Mire Provinces. Twilight's Edge. After having seen the darkness of the Empire, Bron truly appreciated the splendor of the place.

They came in to land on the bumpy gray rock of the Stone Gardens. Rock stacks towered above them, some of the largest secured with chains and converted into Stack Cities. The mighty Edgewater River ran clean and blue, pouring over the lip of rock to spiral down into the darkness from whence Bron and the others had come.

They dismounted from their skycraft, which continued to hover in place. They then looked at each other, and sat down on the ground, utterly exhausted.

"We've earned a rest," gasped Raziel.

"I quite agree," said Durix.

"Yes. Your affair is now at an end," said Verticule. "Yours, too," he added, turning to face the old individual they had rescued from the waifs.

Bron looked at him. Now that they were back in bright light, his eerie glow was invisible, allowing him to look properly at his features. And he noticed something now that he had not before. The fourthling's high cheekbones, pointed chin, and black hair looked very familiar.

"Your face…" said Bron, speaking to him. "It…it looks something like mine. And…it also reminds me of my mother, and of my grandmother, the former Pirate Academic, Leris Quarter."

"Quarter?" said the ancient fourthling, sitting up straighter and looking at Bron. "Did you say…Quarter?"

"Yes…" said Bron.

"Then I think I have your answer," said the figure with a faint smile. "My name is Nate Quarter, and I'd hazard a guess that you're a distant descendant of mine."

"Nate Quarter!" gasped Bron. "I know of you! You're famous! A…a legend! But how can you still be alive?"

"It's a very long story," said Nate. "And one I still don't quite have my head around, after all these centuries. But I'll tell it to you as best I can…"