For such a small creature, Melissa Mossbrook could produce a genuinely magnificent belch that echoed throughout the kitchen. Grimsby took it as a compliment.

The young druid was sitting at the table in human form, surrounded by plates containing crumbs of apple, blueberry, pumpkin, and chocolate pies. Nearby, a teacup sat empty other than the dregs of a spiced black tea he’d picked up in Emberly.

She opened her mouth and said, “Umm,” then closed it again and sniffed one of the plates.

Grimsby waited patiently, gathering the rest of the dishes and bringing them to the sink. She had come here for the past three days but had refused to answer the crucial question he had repeatedly asked. Each day, she had promised to return and tell him tomorrow.

He was beginning to suspect he was being scammed, but with Gideon still away from the castle, he was taking this opportunity to practice his hosting skills. Undoubtedly, once the castle re-opened, he would have to deal with many frustrating customers.

As he scrubbed the dishes, Grimsby hummed to himself, counting down the days until the next train would arrive and this little cretin would become Gideon’s problem.

“Blueberry,” Melissa said.

“Final answer?” Grimsby replied, setting the plate down and turning towards her. “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” she said. “Wait! Umm… No. I want both. Chocolate and blueberry!”

Grimsby sighed, and his skull fell forward. “You can only take one type of pie to the magical flying island, Melissa. That’s the point of the thought experiment. You’re supposed to pick a favorite!”

“You’re mean, skeleton-chef,” Melissa said, patting her stomach. “I don’t want to go to the island. I eat both.” She hopped out of the kitchen chair that was far too large for her. “I can help ghost-lady now.”

“Finally,” Grimsby said, trying not to sound as eager as he felt. Though he had fed Melissa for the past days in return for her help with the conservatory, she seemed to get bored quite quickly and only helped with a few plants each day before leaving the castle and wandering off into the woods.

Admittedly, she had brought more fruits and vegetables that morning, and the pantry was fully stocked. So he could hardly complain. But he’d also wanted to help Ondine with her ingredient shortages, and at the rate they were going, that would take a while.

Melissa shifted into a large, brown bear and squeezed through the kitchen door as Grimsby rushed after her.

By now, Melissa knew the path to the conservatory by heart, crossing the great hall and heading towards the eastern edge of the castle.

Sensing their movements, Ondine joined them as they entered the conservatory, floating through a nearby wall.

Grimsby took a moment to admire the fixed roof above them. Now that the conservatory was sealed, the room was hot and humid. A fly started to buzz around Grimsby’s head, and he tried to shoo it away, but it landed on his eye socket. When he slapped at it, he succeeded only in knocking his skull backward. The fly resumed buzzing. He tried his best to ignore it.

Though the conservatory had seen better days, Grimsby was hopeful that Ondine and Melissa would be able to restore it to its former beauty.

At the center of the conservatory, a small metal bench sat on a raised wooden platform. All around the outer edge of the greenhouse, pots and planters were arranged carefully under a series of artifacts and pipes which dripped water on a set schedule.

“Hi, ghost-lady,” Melissa said. Her voice had a deep, bass rumble when she was a bear. The other day, Melissa explained that by transforming her vocal cords and throat, she could speak regardless of form.

Grimsby still found it weird, though.

“Good afternoon, Melissa,” Ondine replied. She raised an eyebrow towards Grimsby. “It still surprises me you’re not frightened by us.”

Melissa shrugged. “You’re not so scary. Living are worse.” Her eyes dipped down, and she stepped forward, beginning to sniff the different plants around them. “Who needs help?”

Ondine floated over to a large dragonheart flower that was sitting in a pot on the far side of the conservatory. Though the stalk and leaves were still green, the flower itself was sagging downward and had begun to wilt.

“This one, please,” Ondine said. “I’ve been caring for them like always, but it’s wilting much sooner than they used to.”

Melissa bent towards the flower and sniffed it, then closed her eyes. “They’re sad,” she said.

“How can a flower be sad?” Grimsby cried. Though the girl may have been a druid, he was starting to doubt her expertise as a gardener.

“How do I cheer them up, then?” Ondine said gently.

Melissa rose up on her back legs, her paws folded neatly in front of her. “They used to be over there. They liked it better.”

“I moved them here to be closer to the other flowers,” Ondine said.

“You moved the purple one into their spot. They’re not happy no more.”

“That purple one is a thunderfern,” Grimsby said. “I don’t care a lick about plants, but even I know that.”

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Ondine turned to him and shook her head, and Grimsby stepped back, raising his hands defensively.

“You know lots,” Melissa said, “but you don’t listen.” The bear fixed her large, dark eyes on Grimsby. Even in her different form, he could see the amusement in the look she gave him. “You’re funny.”

Melissa strolled over to the thunderfern and gave it a sniff as well. “Um,” she said. “Move them over there.” She gestured towards the other side of the room, to an open space between two shadowberry bushes.

Grimsby wondered how a shadowberry pie would taste. He’d heard they were bitter, but perhaps with a suitable accompaniment, the flavor could shine. Unfortunately, it was hard to invent new recipes since he could no longer taste food.

He’d hoped that feedback from Gideon or Melissa would help guide him to new culinary delights, but they seemed pretty happy to eat anything he placed in front of them, which was a problem. He needed to find someone who was a real snob.

“It’ll still get enough sun?” Ondine asked.

Melissa shrugged, which was a strange gesture to see from a bear. “They say so. They don’t like being called ‘thunderfern.’ They say it’s like calling me ‘beargirl.’ Super rude.”

“You call us skeleton-chef and ghost-lady!” Grimsby shouted.

Melissa looked at him and seemed to consider this for a moment, raising one paw to her chin as if lost in thought.

“I ain’t so good with manners,” she said at last. “Their name is Veridora. They want you to sing a song now and then. You used to, Ondine, but you quit.”

Ondine’s ghostly mouth fell open before she quickly composed herself. “I shall sing to Veridora every day,” she promised. “I didn’t realize they were even listening.”

“It doesn’t have ears,” Grimsby cried.

Melissa laughed. “They feel it, Grimsby.” She slowly shifted back into her human form, shrinking into her petite frame, clad once more in fur clothing rather than actual fur. He had no idea where it went when she transformed, or if it helped form the hair attached to her in her animal form.

Her human hair, as always, was a messy tangle. Ondine had offered to comb it the first day they’d met, but Melissa had only looked at her as if she was offended.

Looking around the conservatory, Melissa smiled as if satisfied. “I’m done,” she said, stretching her hands above her head and yawning.

“I fed you four pies and a cup of tea, and you only helped Ondine with one plant,” Grimsby said, shaking his fist.

“Two plants.” Melissa shrugged. “But okay.” She pointed at one of the shadowberry bushes in the corner. “More water.” Then she turned to the zephyrpom, a tall, thin tree near the center of the conservatory with branches that hung over the bench. “Laina likes music too. But different songs. I’ll tell you which.”

“Huh,” Ondine said. “Thank you, Melissa. I appreciate your help.”

“I ‘preciate your pies,” she said, grinning and turning to Grimsby. “See ya tomorrow!”

Before Grimsby could reply, she shifted back into a bear and loped out of the conservatory. He waved after her, but she seemed to pay them no further mind. Turning to Ondine, he said, “I never knew you liked to sing.”

Though her appearance was pale and translucent, he thought he saw Ondine’s cheeks turn a few shades darker.

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After Melissa left, Grimsby prepared more pies for tomorrow, then wandered around the castle until he found Clonk sitting out on the overlook.

The knight had kicked his feet up on the stone railing. Though his sabbatical had been suspended, he was fitting in as much relaxation time as possible while Gideon was gone.

The past couple days had been slow and quiet, other than the visits from the druid. Lord Kelvan seemed to be staying down in his laboratory and barely gave them any direction. It was strange, Grimsby thought, that the castle seemed to go into stasis when no one living was around.

Other than the bustle of activity to hide the evidence of their past misdeeds, the castle had been peaceful. Grimsby still had his misgivings, though. Though they’d done their best, some experiments were more difficult to hide than others.

Grimsby cleared his throat, and Clonk casually sat forward in his chair.

“She reached the forest yet?”

“A while ago, yes,” Clonk said. “I kept an eye on her just like you asked, but the spiders never bothered her.”

“They have a good sense for who not to mess with,” Grimsby said, walking to the railing and looking down into the valley. “I tell you, Clonk, that girl is unbearable.”

Clonk began to laugh, a booming echo from within his cavernous chest plate. He slapped his gauntlet against his leg, producing a loud clang. “Ha! Good one.”

“What?” Grimsby sighed. “Oh, actually… I didn’t intend that to be a joke.”

“That’s why it was funny, Grimsby.” The knight climbed out of his chair and stood next to him. “I don’t know, she seems pretty bearable to me.”

“You haven’t even talked to her.”

“Exactly,” Clonk said.

Grimsby groaned. “Gideon can’t get back here soon enough. Only now that he’s gone do I realize his value as a go-between for us and everyone else.” Counting out the days on his skeletal fingers, Grimsby felt himself begin to panic. “When will he return, anyway? You don’t think something bad happened?”

“It hasn’t even been a week,” Clonk said. “Relax.”

“It feels like a lot longer though, doesn’t it?” Grimsby replied.

“I’m sure he’s fine. Probably not even stabbed or been stabbed yet.”

“Probably?!”

“How much trouble could he be in?” Clonk asked, tapping his metal fingers on the railing. “He’s pretty cautious, isn’t he?”

Grimsby nodded. “You’re right. Of course. I’m sure he’s just wiling away his days drinking and flirting.”

“Indeed,” Clonk said. “While I could never condone such behavior, I hope he has a good time.”

The two of them sat silently for a while, watching as the sun started to set and the sky turned from blue to a brilliant reddish-purple.

Grimsby had stopped paying attention to the mountain pass below them when Clonk elbowed him in the ribs and pointed.

“Oh, gods,” Grimsby said. “Not again. When will these people learn?”

Below them, four wagons had begun to ascend the mountain. At the front of the caravan, two armed guards rode on horses. Though they carried spears and shields, Grimsby doubted they would be a match for a swarm of spiders.

“They probably stopped learning because we started rescuing people,” Clonk said.

Grimsby considered this. “So… Let them die? I mean, he’s not here…”

A long beat of silence passed between them.

“They could be guests, though,” Clonk said at last. “They might give us money!”

“What do you even need money for?” Grimsby said. He looked down at the wagons slowly rolling along, their tops made of red-and-black canvas. If Gideon had been here, no doubt he would have encouraged them to save these fools. But how would Lord Kelvan react if he emerged from his lab and found a dozen new guests roaming the castle?

Grimsby was not used to making these kinds of decisions, and it bothered him that without Gideon here, he had no one to scapegoat. No matter what he chose, one of them would have to take either the blame or the credit.

In the distance, the spiders had begun to emerge from their burrows. They really needed to get that under control. And by they, Grimsby meant Clonk and Gideon.

“A new telescope,” Clonk said. He’d taken so long to reply that Grimsby hadn’t even realized the knight was still considering the question. “I think I’d like to buy a new telescope.”

“Fine,” Grimsby said, and threw up his hands. “Go ahead.”

Clonk sprang forward and dived off the balcony in his usual fashion.

“Maybe one of them is a food critic,” Grimsby said as he watched the knight charge down the mountain. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

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