Now that the adrenaline had worn off, Beak’s eyes were burning with exhaustion. She had no idea how late it was on this moonlit beach. Only the presence of the extremely dangerous residents kept her from complaining that it was time to sleep.

As it was, she kept her silence in the face of all those staring eyes — gargoyle size, medusa size, and medusa-snake size. Far too many eyes. Far too dangerous, even during civil conversation like this.

Beak tried to memorize the valuable information that the gorgons were imparting, though the names of high-ranking humans and human organizations were just a wash of syllables. The dragons would remember it fine. Beak was tired. She realized at one point that the pixie dust had worn off, and she couldn’t work up the energy to care that she was standing in sand that had once been petrified creatures.

She woke up a bit when a gargoyle appeared out of the night sky, backwinging to land in a mini-sandstorm.

“Sorry,” he said as Beak and the others lowered their hands from shielding their faces. “One of your people reached the shore.”

“Which one?” Razorscale demanded. “Did you talk with her?”

“Yes, the centaur,” said the gargoyle. “When I convinced her that no one had been petrified, she said she would wait for the rest of you at the big tree.”

Razorscale nodded. “Good. Any sign of the minotaur?”

“Not that I saw,” he said, “But I only went in the one direction. The other guys ought to be able to find her.”

Beak searched the sky with her human eyes, but predictably saw nothing. She kept searching while the dragon turned the conversation back to the intricacies of the human stronghold. The moonlight was bright, as moonlight went, but the gargoyles all had some variation of stone-gray skin that blended in with shadows. Unless a flying one eclipsed the stars she was looking at, she would be unlikely to see him.

Especially if he came from behind her. The second sandstorm caught her off guard, and she yelped.

“Sorry about that,” said the new arrival. “One of your people flew straight out to sea, and got completely lost. Looks like she’s out of floaty magic too, since she’s riding driftwood like her life depends on it. Which it probably doesn’t, but we did see some merfolk circling.”

“What!” Beak exclaimed. She reached for her pouch of pixie dust. “Which direction? I’ll show those fish thieves what’s what.”

The gargoyle pointed. “My buddy’s keeping on eye on the situation, but I’m afraid the lady on the driftwood doesn’t trust us enough to be carried back here.”

Beak snorted, rubbing a pinch of pixie dust into her scalp. “Merfolk below, gargoyles above, can’t fly anymore, and her night vision is crap compared to what she’s used to. Can’t imagine why she wouldn’t be in a trusting mood.” Without asking, Beak sprinkled dust over Twig, and moved on to the dragons.

Razorscale held still for it. “‘Fish thieves’?” he asked mildly.

“Have you ever met a mermaid?” Beak snapped. “They are one of my town’s biggest headaches. The orcs have at least two songs about clubbing them in the head, and one about losing an eye to their water daggers. They claim to be territorial, but anything wet is their territory if the fishing is good enough there.”

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“I see.”

Beak dusted Silver too, then tied the bag up tight again. “Right eggholes, all of them.” She looked to the circle of gorgons, who looked more amused than anything. “Thank you for not killing us,” she said.

“Our pleasure,” replied the lead female. “Good luck, and please don’t come back.”

“We won’t.” Beak turned to the gargoyle, already lifting off the sand. “Lead the way.”

He nodded once and launched into the air with mighty wingbeats that scattered sand far below. Beak kept pace easily, only glancing back once to make sure Twig and the dragons were following. They were.

The gargoyle banked to fly across the island, heading out to sea as promised. He flew quickly. Pixie dust let Beak and the others match him without effort. Beak scanned the darkness ahead of her as they flew, watching the moon’s reflection on the water.

She spotted the other gargoyle first, circling above a particular spot. Beak sped up when she made out the shape of a log with someone clinging to it.

That’s some driftwood all right, and those are the glowspots of deep-sea troublemakers at that end. Not on my watch.

Beak dove toward the log, letting loose with the ear-splitting screech of a harpy come to battle. The glowspots in the water scattered as she swooped past.

“That’s right, run away!” she yelled, turning for another pass. “You leave her alone!”

Stomp was sitting up on the log, looking unharmed. Good. The gargoyle was just now catching up, joining his friend in circling the scene. Beak dove at the log again, shrieking for the merfolk’s sake. The glowspots were nowhere in evidence.

Then they all surfaced at once, flinging water daggers that Beak had to spin to dodge. Razorscale shouted at her.

“Stay back!” he said. “Congratulations, you’ve made it worse!”

“I’ve made it worse?” Beak demanded. “They should know when to leave!”

Razorscale hovered in the air. “They were towing the log to shore,” he claimed, pointing at one of the gargoyles. “He was watching.”

“What?” Beak shook her head. “They probably have a cave to trap prisoners in close to shore.”

“These are not the merfolk that you feud with back home,” the dragon insisted. “All they see is a human stuck out at sea, not an enemy.”

“The medusa said they claim these waters, and don’t let the humans pass! Humans are their enemies!”

“You don’t know that,” Razorscale told her. “Stand back. Farther.”

Fuming, Beak slid backwards in the sky. No more water daggers flew towards her, though the sea was glittering with glowspots. Stomp was lying down on the log and covering her head.

Razorscale directed Silver to play diplomat, for reasons that Beak wasn’t interested in. The young dragon eased close enough to strike up a conversation, and greeted the untrustworthy fishtails.

Again Silver was painfully polite, and it worked. The merfolk gave permission — permission, ha! — for pixie dust to be applied to Stomp. Razorscale hissed at Beak to behave herself. She glared at him, but flew in slowly with the bag.

Stomp was wet, shivering, and wild-eyed. She didn’t let go of the log until her dark hair was sparkling with dust. Beak had barely put the bag away before she was engulfed in a hug from desperate arms.

“There there,” Beak said, pretending this was a large and misshapen fledgeling. “You’re safe. Let’s get you back to shore.” With some encouraging, Stomp pulled back enough for Beak to see where she was going, though the minotaur silently insisted on holding hands while they flew.

Twig joined them to ask how Stomp was and talk her ear off about the gorgons. Razorscale bid the two gargoyles goodbye. Silver was around somewhere, flying silently.

The merfolk were below, watching as they left. If Beak had had her proper harpy feet, she would have made a rude gesture at them, but she made do with hissing quietly then turning her back.

Twig was still talking, and likely wouldn’t stop. “Windmane is by the big tree with our stuff,” he said to Stomp. “We can trade your wet clothes for some blankets, and I bet Silver can start us a nice fire to dry them out next to. We can all go to sleep by a toasty warm fire; doesn’t that sound nice? In the morning we can have other adventures in the human city, and track down the wizards, but tonight we’ll sleep.”

Beak couldn’t wait. Only the damp from the hug, along with the leftover adrenaline, kept her from taking a long blink into the sea.