Wrapped awkwardly in his hammock, Twist struggled long into the night to find comfort. The silence of his cabin pressed in on him like a heavy fog until the beating of his own heart began to sound loud in his ears. Finally giving up on sleep, he carefully untangled himself from the hammock and found his watch.

  He wrapped a heavy wool blanket around his shoulders, sat on the floor in a beam of brilliant moonlight that streamed through the porthole window above him, and turned the brass watch over in his hands. While the back was cleanly brushed brass and soft to the touch, the front cover of it was embossed with a delicate design—a sun inside a square, surrounded by decorative curling marks—that Twist's fingertips knew intrinsically. Twist let his Sight open slowly into the familiar pulse of the watch, his attention wafting over its gears and springs like smoke. After a moment, he opened the face of the watch.

  The constant ticking of all his clocks in his tiny attic workshop, the dull hum of London's rain, the cool light that seeped down through the thick, drenched atmosphere, the scent of the old, dark wood and lingering soot, and the light flicker of a single candle all washed over him in a warm, comforting wave. The only emotions and memories that came to him were his own. Twist let go of his body and let his mind run free through the vision, basking in the safe emptiness of his own echo.

  At some point, fatigue took hold. Twist drifted seamlessly from vision to dream, curled up in the moonlight. Some time later, he stirred to waking in a warm pool of sunlight on the floor of his quiet cabin. For a moment, he wasn't sure where he was. The watch in his hands was still open, the shadows of the attic room still coloring the air. Twist snapped it closed. The silence of the sky pushed back in on him like a cold shock. As he stood, stiff and still half asleep, the view beyond the windows caught his attention.

  Snow-speckled mountains rose to meet the thin wisps of cloud all around the airship. For a moment he thought that they might be the Himalayas, but it must be impossible to travel so far in one night. Twist might not have had a very detailed map of the world in his mind, but he was sure that there was more than one country between England and Nepal. He dressed and made himself presentable as quickly as he could, and then hurried out into the hallway and up the stairs. Out on the open deck, the mountains looked all the more impressive. The ship had slowed to navigate through the high, snow-filled valleys.

  Once Captain Davis had steered the ship through the highest peaks, he and all of the others shared a breakfast in the lavishly decorated second-deck cabin. Twist joined them, but did his best to stay out of conversations. As soon as he could politely leave the table, he headed back to his cabin to retrieve the book of poems that he had packed. He brought it out to the open deck and took a seat against the railing near the bow of the ship. He spent a long while in the quiet and colorful words of Percy Shelley, happily left alone by the others as they busied themselves about the airship.

  “Twist, sweetie.” Arabel's voice came to him from her perch in the rigging, just below the curve of the balloon. “Now would be a good time to look up.”

  Twist wasn't sure how he felt about being called “sweetie,” but he looked forward over the bow nevertheless. His eyes were met with a sight unlike any he'd ever imagined.

  A city of pale marble hung in a pool of white clouds, hundreds of feet in the air over a harbor city far below. Archways of stone and pale wood reached over the abyss to connect wide, open plazas and clusters of ornate buildings and tall towers. Domed roofs topped many structures, and stone filigree and statues seemed to adorn every surface. Ivy crawled over the balustrades, fountains flowed glistening in the sunlight, and countless people in colorful costumes strolled pleasantly through the city, apparently untroubled by the impossibility of their situation.

  There were no balloons to hold the city aloft, nor any connection to the ground that Twist could see. Small boat-like crafts with wood and canvas wings hurried under the archways and around the buildings like gondolas of the air, and many huge airships were already docked at the edges of the city.

  “Pretty impressive, isn't it?” Arabel called to him happily as she climbed down from the rigging. “I just love Venice,” she said, stepping up to the bow beside him.

  “I thought Venice was built on water,” Twist said, staring bewildered as the flying city drew closer.

  “Well, that part is on water,” Arabel said, pointing down to the harbor below. “But this is the new section of Venice. It's much easier for the airship traffic. And it's a splendid view!”

  “But how does it...” Twist waved his hand vaguely at the flying city.

  “How does it stay up, you mean?” Arabel asked. “I'm not really sure,” she said with a shrug. “It has something to do with magnetic rocks and electrical currents. But whatever the mechanical details, it's perfectly stable. It doesn't move from that spot: up, down, or to any side. It sure would be a bother if it did,” she added with a light laugh.

  The Vimana came in close, slipping in between other airships that were already docked at the end of long, wooden piers. Twist watched as the populace of the city became clearer to him. Each person was dressed in ornate costumes of silk, feathers, and lace, in bright and vibrant colors. Their faces were all covered with masks of impossibly endless variation: long beak-like faces, expressionless faces—of pure white or intricately decorated—masks shaped like stars and half-moons painted with gold, and large fan shapes. Medieval jester caps topped many, while other masks only covered the eyes.

  “We haven't missed Carnival!” Arabel cheered and clapped her hands. “I was afraid we would,” she said to Twist.

  “So, it's not a city of mad clowns, then,” Twist said with a reassured nod.

  Arabel laughed and shook her head. “Only during Carnival,” she said, before hurrying off.

  The ship docked, while Captain Davis gave his orders to collect the needed supplies and then be back on board by morning. Twist headed back to the bow to continue reading, but Zayle ran to him before he could sit down again.

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  “You're not staying on board,” Zayle said sternly.

  “Why not?” Twist asked back.

  “Because you're in Venice, of course!” Zayle said. “Now come on, let's go play.”

  “No, thank you,” Twist said, sitting down against the railing with his back to the city.

  Zayle put his hands on his hips and stared down at Twist. “I'll drag you off this ship if I have to,” he said. Twist eyed him carefully, wondering if it was safe to test his threat.

  “What's the hold up?” Arabel said, coming closer too.

  “He wants to stay here,” Zayle said, pointing an accusing finger.

  “What?” Arabel gasped. “Why, do you feel sick?” she asked Twist.

  “What's going on over here?” Aazzi asked, joining them.

  “Something is wrong with Twist,” Arabel said, sounding worried.

  “He wants to stay on the ship,” Zayle said.

  “Oh Lord,” Twist muttered, rubbing at his brow. “Please, go and enjoy yourselves,” he said. “I don't like crowds, so I'll wait for you all here on the ship.”

  The three of them stared at him as if he'd just announced himself the king of France.

  Without warning, Aazzi reached out, took hold of the collar of Twist's jacket, and pulled him to his feet, his face within an inch of hers. Twist froze as a cold thrill of shock shot up his spine. His hands held back, he pulled away as best he could to keep her from touching his skin directly. Aazzi stared into him with her silver eyes, holding him only a breath away.

  “You are coming with us,” she said softly. “And you're going to have a good time. Or, I'm going to bite you. Is that clear?”

  “Why won't you leave me alone?” Twist asked in a fast, high gasp.

  Aazzi smiled. “Life's too short, darling,” she said gently. Twist saw a flash of pointed teeth in the last word. His heartbeat sped up so quickly that he felt dizzy for a moment. “Now,” Aazzi said, releasing his collar, “come along.”

  Now too frightened to protest further, Twist went with the others off the ship. People moved quickly along the docks and Twist did all he could to stay clear of everyone. The dock ended at a wide, open marble plaza, filled with festival-goers. Flashes of bright colors rushed by him on all sides, and people laughed, sang, and spoke loudly in languages he didn't know. There was constant motion, sound, and color, but Aazzi stayed close to Twist's back all the time.

  “Here,” Arabel said suddenly, handing Twist a small mask of black silk trimmed in silver, with turquoise beads sewn at the edge of one eye like tears. When Twist looked up to her, her face was already covered with a golden mask shaped like the sun, with long waving points of stiff fabric reaching out around her eyes, and crimson detail throughout. Twist saw a small stand behind her, showing loads of masks, hats, and other colorful things for sale.

  “Go on, little one,” Aazzi said behind him, putting on a silver mask that was shaped like a crescent moon. “You would only stand out without a mask, here.”

  Twist tamped down his pride at the pet name, took the mask, and put it on. The moment he did, his mind flashed with the image of a woman with long, curling black hair that fell around a white full-face mask. She lifted her mask to reveal a wicked smile before she leaned in quickly to kiss him. Twist shook his head sharply to clear the image, and the vision wafted from his mind like smoke, just before her lips met his.

  “Here, Twist,” Zayle's voice broke in from behind a jester mask with green, belled points hanging forward. Zayle handed Twist a glass of golden liquid, saying: “This will help.”

  “Help with what?” Twist asked, taking the glass.

  “Drink it quick, and you'll be fine,” Zayle said, taking a healthy drink from his own glass.

  Twist took a sip to find it was a sweet-tasting wine. “Now you're trying to get me drunk!” Twist accused with as loud a voice as he could muster.

  “No, I wouldn't,” Zayle said back, his voice sounding hurt. “I'm just trying to get you a little tipsy, is all.”

  “I never should have left London,” Twist muttered, his words lost in all the other noise. He took a mouthful of the wine just to get Zayle to stop pestering him.

  Arabel took hold of the edge of his jacket sleeve and pulled him farther into the crowd. Small clusters formed here and there as people gathered to laugh and talk together. Couples danced in open spaces to impromptu bands of masked street musicians. Food and wine appeared out of nowhere, while every building seemed to spill more and more people out onto the plazas and walkways. The noise was constant, the chilly air was charged with energy, and color filled every part of the world under the brilliant midday light of the so-close sun in the high atmosphere.

  Twist's senses dulled under the assault and the city turned into a swirling blur. When Arabel came to a huge fountain at the center of the plaza and stopped, he took another heavy drink from his glass. Zayle was probably right, and there was no fighting it now. Twist felt his head start to swim slightly and let himself relax into it. Arabel, still holding his sleeve, waved and yelled as two masked men approached from the crowd.

  “Uncle, is that you?” she yelled to one of them.

  “Is not,” the man with a blue silk mask said back, coming closer. “This is Carnival. I can be whoever I want, today.”

  “What wrong with being you?” Arabel asked back.

  “Nagging nieces, for a start,” he snapped back tauntingly.

  “Oh, you beast!” Arabel said, laughing and throwing out a hand to slap at his arm as he laughed too.

  “Lovely lady, could I have this dance?” the other masked man asked Aazzi with a bow. Twist heard a distinct French accent in his voice.

  “I should tell you, I'm a married woman,” Aazzi said to him playfully.

  “Then your husband is a lucky man,” the man said, holding out a hand. Aazzi laughed and took his hand, and they both disappeared into the crowd, hurrying closer to the nearest band and empty space to dance.

  “I hate to say it,” said the man with the blue mask, whose voice Twist now recognized as Captain Davis's, “but we are mainly here to resupply.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Zayle sighed. “I'll go see about the coal and oil,” he said, slumping as he moved off into the crowd.

  “I'll handle the food supplies,” Captain Davis said. “Arabel, do we need anything for the rigging or sails?”

  “It's all fine now,” she said with a shrug. “I'll get some more rope, just in case, but we have enough canvas to keep the sails strong for a long while.”

  “Thank you,” Captain Davis said, already heading away.

  “Come along, Twist,” Arabel said, slipping her finger through a button hole at the edge of his sleeve. “You're with me.”