The great whirlpool roared beneath the boat; after Pandora had returned with Howard, it was held up by all the bats again. But Gregor barely heard the noise. He stared into the faces of his fellow travelers.

Howard had been saved. Someone had now draped a blanket around his shoulders. But down there, among the grinding waves of the water, was still Twitchtip, desperately clinging to what had remained of the second boat.

And only then did it hit Gregor what their silence meant. They didn't plan to save her. Not to save her, as Howard had been saved—as anyone would have been saved. Anyone but her.

"It's because she's a rat!" he yelled, barely recognizing his breaking voice. "You're just going to sit here and watch her drown . . . because she's a rat!"

Gregor took a step toward the rim of the boat to glance down and winced when Twitchtip's boat snapped in two. Its crack was audible even against the deafening roar of the whirlpool. He watched her desperately cling to the wreckage before it was swept out of her grasp. Her horrified shriek speared Gregor's ears.

His fists tightened as he watched her desperately claw her way through the water, fighting to keep from going under. But she wouldn't last long.

Then and there, Gregor tore his eyes away and found the life jacket—on the floor next to Boots. Her head flew up when Gregor shoved his arms through the straps and buckled them with shaking hands. The small flashlight—the one Mrs. Cormaci had given him—was in his pocket. The water here didn't glow, so he flicked it on. Maybe he could hold it between his teeth?

He ignored Boots' confused "Oh?" and, in two steps, he was by the side of the boat.

Hands grabbed him as he attempted to climb up. "Do not be a madman, Overlander!" Howard had apparently recovered so much that he had realized what Gregor was doing. "You cannot help her!"

"You make me the sickest of all!" Gregor furiously wiggled out of his grip. "You were down there yourself a minute ago! You got rescued! And what about what you swore? About saving anyone in water trouble? What about that?!"

Howard's face flushed purple, and he took a step back. But the moment he released him, Luxa took his place. "Gregor!" she hissed. "I forbid you to go, Gregor. You will not survive!"

"Not with you guys as backup!" Gregor was so furious he could have thrown her over the side of the boat—see how she liked it down there!

With one firm tug, he ripped his arm out of Luxa's grip and scrambled up onto the side of the boat. "Ripred brought her for me!" he yelled. "He brought her to help me, so I could help you guys and your whole stupid kingdom!" For a heartbeat, he held Luxa's glare, and then Gregor turned. "That's why we're doing this, right?"

When the beam of his light hit the grinding water below, Gregor shuddered. He had been determined moments ago, but . . . Was he really going to jump down into that? They were right; it was insane. Even if he'd been the best Olympic swimmer in the world, he'd never swim his way out of that. Especially pulling some big old rat.

But . . . Gregor took a deep breath. He had to do this. To show them. To prove to them they were wrong—apart from how they were right when it came to his own chances at surviving this. But were they really? He knew the Underlanders needed to keep him alive at all costs; they had insisted on that often enough. And that meant if he jumped now, they'd come after him. All he needed to do was get to Twitchtip, and they'd have to save them both . . . right?

Gregor swallowed hard. It was still a huge gamble. What if he overestimated their willingness to risk this mission for him? What if he had misheard? What if he jumped now and nobody came?

We keep each other alive. Luxa's words rang in his ears—the words she had uttered when he had first asked about bonds. Gregor's head flew up and found his bat—if worst came to worst, Ares would come. He . . . had to, didn't he? It was the whole deal. And for the first time, Gregor thought he understood.

And so, Gregor didn't look back at any of them; he shook all hands that tried to secure him and inched forward, looking for Twitchtip in the vortex . . . and then he jumped.

Gregor thought Howard was yelling something, but he couldn't say what it was. Because he fell, and then the shock of the cold water occupied him. This lasted about a millisecond, and then all his attention was on the current.

Gregor frantically beat the icy water with his arms, despite the life jacket. He was nothing—a twig, a gum wrapper, an ant—being carried along by the immense force of the whirlpool. But he had an objective. Gregor forced his wet eyes open, blinking rapidly to empty them of water. There she was, his objective, only a ring away from him; her head bobbed in and out of the water.

Gregor's gaze trailed further and met the gaping center of the vortex. It sucked in the water like a voracious mouth—like a black hole, he suddenly thought. His dad had told him about black holes. They had visited the museum together some four or so years ago. There had been a space-themed exhibition, and Gregor remembered his dad's words: They are masses of immense gravity, so heavy that they suck in everything in proximity, even light. That's why they're black.

It was a black hole. A black hole that was only one, two rounds away from swallowing Twitchtip . . . and Gregor after her. An icy arrow of fear pierced his heart. Had he really jumped into this death trap willingly, trusting some people who had shown their true faces when refusing to save Twitchtip earlier?

Even if they planned on saving him, what if they wouldn't get to him in time? What if Ares couldn't let go of the boat? What if nobody came?

Gregor was so occupied with trying not to panic that he almost missed Twitchtip, who had noticed him and made a weak attempt to swim in his direction. She latched onto his life jacket, and they smacked into each other. Gregor instinctively opened his arms and encircled her neck; his legs wrapped around her body. Twitchtip dug her claws into the life jacket. "Don't—let—go!" she choked out, shaking like a leaf.

Never, he meant to yell, but with the flashlight between his teeth, he could only shake his head. He had gotten to her; his head pounded with the thought. He had gotten to her.

They spun around the whirlpool, and Gregor felt the current suck at them, pulling them down, closer to the black hole, as though it had a mind of its own. It refused to let them go.

Gregor had done his part, he thought again. And now? Now everything depended on the others.

Waiting made every second feel like a year. His hands dug deep into Twitchtip's fur; it was all he could do while he waited for . . . something. But with each passing heartbeat, his hope dwindled. Faster than he had thought, he found himself a single ring away from the black hole.

They can't do it; Ares can't do it, Gregor thought. His teeth dug painfully into the flashlight; it now pointed sideways, directly into the mound. We're going under, he thought. We're going to die.

He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting to be engulfed. Instead, something painfully dug its claws into his life jacket and shoulder beneath, and Gregor screamed, nearly dropping the flashlight. And what gripped him was not Twitchtip, because one giant tug later, they were both out of the water.

Gregor peeked up and realized he had been clawed up by a bat. Both he and Twitchtip dangled from firmly locked talons. It must be Ares, he meekly thought, allowing his body to relax in relief despite the uncomfortable position. He must have found a way to let go of the boat. His plan had worked, Gregor thought, nearly smiling. They had come for them. Both of them.

Gregor could do nothing but hang as they were carried over the water until the whirlpool was out of reach. He frowned. Did Ares not know where to set them down? Gregor's eyes found the remaining boat still suspended. That was a hard-to-nail target, and what other option was there?

As they won altitude, Gregor observed that Ares seemed to be struggling with Twitchtip's weight. He heard the bat's strained heaving and frowned. Something about that wasn't right . . . Ares could easily carry a rat, and Twitchtip was not even an overly large one.

Before Gregor could properly ask himself what was wrong with his bat, he put on his wings and closed in on the boat. Gregor could soon make it out beneath, but down there, something wasn't right either; everyone seemed to be in dismay. Gregor could even make out a few drawn swords.

His mouth opened to call out to them and ask what was wrong. Then his gaze met the bats who were still carrying the boat. Dazedly, Gregor counted them. One. Two. Three. Four. Four bats—four bats? He stared at Ares' black coat—there, among them. His eyes were wide, and he twisted his neck to look at Gregor. But if Ares was down there . . . who was currently carrying them?

A belated wave of panic engulfed Gregor, and he instinctively began twisting. But before he had wriggled himself out of his grip, the unknown bat let go, and he and Twitchtip fell—some ten or eleven feet—hitting the floor of the boat with a loud thud.

Every inch of Gregor's body cried in pain. He groaned, holding his throbbing shoulder where the bat had grabbed him. It took him a moment to regain some control over his arms and legs, but Gregor eventually lifted himself to all fours and unclenched his jaw until the flashlight dropped out of his mouth.

Temp scurried over, and on his back was Boots; Gregor immediately wrapped her in his arms. "You wet!" she complained, tugging at his soaked shirt, and Gregor could not suppress an enormous grin.

"Yes, Boots," he said. "I'm wet. It's what happens when you jump into the water."

She giggled, and only then did Gregor register that the rest of the questers hadn't spared him a single glance yet. Howard, Mareth, and Luxa were gathered at the edge of the boat, with Luxa teetering precariously over the side. They all stared out to the sea with—yes, he had seen correctly earlier—drawn swords.

Gregor scrambled to his feet to see why they were making such a fuss, but he nearly toppled again when a dark silhouette dashed past the boat. "Bat?" asked Boots' voice beside his ear. "That bat!" She pointed her small finger.

It's the bat, Gregor thought. The one who saved us. He scooped up the flashlight he had dropped and leaned on the side of the boat, letting the beam wander.

When it finally found the strange bat, Gregor noticed his flight was unstable; he almost lost balance multiple times in mid-air. Gregor had barely enough time to ponder what was wrong when the bat veered a ninety-degree turn, heading straight for the boat.

"Halt!" screamed Howard, but the bat didn't stop. He hovered above the boat for a second, then dropped to the floor like a rock. The boat swayed, and Gregor barely held onto Boots as he was knocked off his feet and fell into Twitchtip, who had cowered behind him.

Dazedly, Gregor scooted away from Twitchtip and raised his gaze at the strange bat. "Bat hurt?" asked Boots, and as he observed the bat lay there, in an awkward position on his stomach, heaving, Gregor wondered whether he may be. Whether that was what was wrong.

"Halt!" yelled Howard again.

"Don't move!" cried Luxa. They both had their swords pointed at the strange bat. Although Gregor seriously doubted that he was in the physical shape to pose a threat at that moment.

"What? What?!" Photos-Glow-Glow's unmissable voice yelped, and the firefly darted over Gregor's head, toward the bat. Zap followed on his heel, and only in their light did Gregor clearly make out who it was that had made an emergency landing on their boat.

The bat was large—around Ares' size—and originally black, but . . . Gregor found himself staring; his face was white. The contrast was so striking that it almost looked like a mask. He had never seen this bat, not even when they had visited their land on their first quest; of this, he was sure. Then Gregor's gaze trailed up, and his eyes widened in shock because on his back . . . sat a rider.

For a split second, Gregor doubted that he was human. Only on second glance did he recognize the thing on his face was a mask—made from what looked like . . . a rat skull. It almost seemed to glow in the ghastly light and mirrored the mark on the face of his bat surprisingly well.

Gregor barely had enough time to ask himself who they were and where they had come from when Mareth suddenly lowered his blade, utterly aghast. ". . . Thanatos?!"

The bat, who had lain motionlessly with closed eyes, now tore them open. He stared at Mareth for a few seconds, then lowered his head again. "It's . . . been a while, no?"

"A while, yes!" exclaimed Mareth. "A while!" He broke off, but all attention was on him anyway. Luxa and Howard even lowered their swords.

And then something unexpected happened: the moment the swords lowered, the bat with the white face leaped to his feet. "Oh!" cried Boots, and Gregor jumped, just like everyone else.

Luxa instantly whipped around and jerked her sword back up. But then Mareth had her arm. "Wait!" He allowed her no time to protest. "Thanatos," he repeated, still in utter disbelief. "Is it . . . is it truly you?"

Under Mareth's stare, the bat drew in his wings. "I'm afraid so."

"Who are you?" Luxa wriggled out of Mareth's grip and shoved him aside to approach the newcomers. "Who authorized you to land on our boat?"

"Intruders!" Zap quacked in the back.

Nearly everyone—excluding Twitchtip, Boots, and Gregor—had now assembled around the newcomers. Gregor finally got to his feet and took a step closer himself when he sensed Temp coming up on his left; even Twitchtip behind him peeked ahead. Howard, on Mareth's other side, raised his sword again. "Intruders indeed. What shall we do with them?"

This time, it was the rider's head that jerked up. Gregor thought he was staring at Howard, but it was hard to tell with his mask. Gregor's gaze met the sword he had strapped to his back, and he urgently hoped he would never feel compelled to draw it. Half of him wanted to step up and try to calm Luxa and Howard, but the other half was uncertain. The strangers were technically intruders.

"Identify yourselves!" commanded Luxa.

The bat moved not an inch, but the rider's head jerked to Luxa. He held her gaze for a moment, then slowly dismounted. Gregor tensed; was this the moment he would attack? But no, he . . . retreated behind his bat, who inched forward in response. "You point blades at us for saving the life of your warrior?" he said, and Gregor felt his face flush with shame. Of course, they had saved his life—his and Twitchtip's—when nobody else on this stupid boat had.

Gregor clenched his teeth and pushed forward into the little half-circle. But before he could speak, Mareth beat him to it. "We all thought you were—" He cut himself off, placing one hand on Luxa's and the other on Howard's shoulders. "You are right. Lower your blades."

"But Mareth, they are intruders!" Luxa yelled, and Gregor winced at the hostility in her voice.

"They look like outcasts," said Howard, raising his sword even higher. "We should chase them away before they can cause any harm."

"No." Gregor had never heard Mareth sound so pained. "No, stop." He took a cautious step forward. "How can this be?" he asked. "It really is you." Then his gaze flew up at the rider. "You, and—"

"Do you know these people, Mareth?" said Luxa icily.

"The flier, I do." Mareth sheathed his own sword. "He is . . . a ghost. Someone I thought we'd never lay eyes on again. What has it been? Seven? Eight years?"

"And the human?" Howard squinted in an attempt to make out the face behind the mask.

"No," said Mareth doubtfully. "Although it is hard to tell with his mask. But it is not . . . Thanatos, you—for a second, I thought it was you and—"

"It is not," said the bat—Thanatos—and Mareth lowered his gaze. Moments later, Luxa's and Howard's swords pointed at the rider instead.

Luxa took another step forward until the tip of her blade nearly touched his chest. "Identify yourself," she repeated, and Gregor clenched his teeth. He itched to intervene, but suddenly, a fear of getting into a fight overcame him. Whatever was going on with him—after what had happened with the squids—he didn't want to risk another episode of it needlessly. But was it needless? Would the stranger not draw his sword and retaliate now?

A few eternal moments passed, but he did no such thing. He stared at Luxa wordlessly for so long that Gregor began to wonder if something was wrong.

But when she took another step forward, intending to place the tip of her blade on his chest, Thanatos moved. Faster than Luxa had time to retreat, he rose to his hind legs and spread his wings; Gregor estimated they spanned at least a full seventeen feet. "Watch where you point that."

Luxa stared at him, aghast. She clearly wasn't used to being spoken to in such a tone, and Gregor felt an unexpected surge of sympathy for Thanatos. Luxa's crown was there for everyone to see, and yet he did it anyway.

"You shall not command me!" hissed Luxa immediately.

"And you shall not threaten the one who has insisted on diving and saving your warrior's life," Thanatos hissed back, and Gregor had to suppress laughter. "The habit of giving commands runs deep with you, royal lot," he mumbled to himself, and Gregor stifled another laugh.

The rider was less subtle; he snorted, and Luxa made a sour face. From the corner of his eye, Gregor saw that even Mareth was doing his best not to laugh.

"If he is so trustworthy, he shall show us his face," said Howard, and everyone fell silent instantly.

Gregor stared at the rider with intrigue. He wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt for saving him, but . . . Howard was right. If they were friendly, why would he wear a mask?

He dared to peek up for the first time to try and spot Ares. What was his take on the matter? The strangers had saved Gregor when he had been unable to, after all. Gregor caught a glimpse of all four bats, seemingly in debate with Zap, who spoke vigorously. They had to hear what was going on, but they were still circling above the whirlpool. Was there nowhere to set the boat down? Or had they been thrown off course?

"Yes," said Luxa, before Gregor could properly start worrying. "Prove your goodwill to us by revealing your identity, or leave."

"Who he is does not concern you," said Thanatos suddenly in an odd tone that sent an uncertain shiver down Gregor's spine. "All you need to know is that I am Death, and he is my Rider."

Gregor's eyes widened; he inspected the strangers, who seemed startled by the association. What was that even supposed to mean? Death and his . . . "Oh!"

Everything turned to him.

"I—I have something that I'm supposed to—!" Where was the damned thing? Under the confused gazes of his fellow travelers, he ransacked all his pockets.

Before he had left Regalia, he had visited the room of prophecies in search of the Prophecy of Bane, and there had been Nerissa. Gregor vaguely remembered talking to her about Henry, but that was not the part of the conversation that had stuck with him.

When all his pockets turned out empty, Gregor stumbled back, setting Boots down. Right! He had put it in his backpack, in fear it might get wet.

"What by Sandwich's spirit are you doing?" asked Howard, but Gregor didn't reply. He rummaged through his backpack.

"Death and his Rider," Gregor called. "So you are the Death Rider. I have—"

"Wait—what?!"

Gregor whipped around, nearly dropping his bag. To his surprise, it had been Howard who had spoken, not the stranger. "Are you out of your mind, Overlander?"

"No!" Gregor ransacked the last pocket of his bag and finally held up the little leather scroll. "Here! I'm supposed to give you this. Nerissa gave it to me to pass on to the one called . . . "Death Rider"."

"Halt."

They all jumped when the rider spoke for the first time. He stared right at Gregor, who had frozen with the scroll in his hand.

"I'm not the . . . actual Death Rider."

"He is no Death Rider," echoed Howard. "The Death Rider is a legend, a figure of—"

"Oh, be still!" the rider cut him off, whipping around. "Whatever do you even know of this legend, to have a say in this?"

Howard jumped, but then his brows furrowed angrily. Before he could retort, Thanatos addressed his rider: "You may not be the mythical Death Rider, but you are the closest there is to a real-life version of him now. Is it not so?"

"But I—" He cut himself off, looking back and forth between Thanatos and Gregor. "Well . . . I suppose," he said after a long silence. "Although, I wonder how the Overland warrior even knows of the Death Rider?"

Gregor froze. How did this stranger know that he was the warrior? He opened his mouth to ask, but then looked around and realized that his Overland features were distinct. And there was but one Overlander who would team up with a bunch of people to go fulfill a prophecy. Apparently, even outsiders, hermits, or whoever these people were knew that.

"I heard from Nerissa—I mean, a girl who . . . well, she knows what she's talking about," said Gregor, realizing that the stranger would probably have no idea who Nerissa was. "She told me about the Death Rider and that we would meet him during this trip. And then she told me to give him this." Gregor took another step forward until he was face-to-face with the stranger—the Death Rider—of that, he was suddenly convinced beyond doubt.

It is not meant for you, but for the one it features, Nerissa spoke in his head. Take it with you, Overlander, for you will meet him on your quest. Pass it on so that he may find hope, strength, and maybe even some clarity in the words.

Not knowing what she had meant in the slightest, Gregor had curiously unrolled the scroll, and it had only heightened his confusion. He had never actually heard the name "Death Rider" anywhere in the Underland, and when he had asked her to explain it, Nerissa had given him a melancholy smile. A legend, Overlander, she had explained. An old myth describes a menacing figure riding on the wings of Death Himself, wielding a burning sword. When Gregor had stared at her, appalled, she had laughed. Or so Henry described it, she had amended. He made up endless tales of the Death Rider when we were little. I would not recommend taking his word for it, though. Henry told stories without end, yet all good storytellers exaggerate. I doubt he is anything but a human, like you and I.

Gregor had not really known what to say to that; so far, any mention of Henry had resulted in uncomfortable moments, and this one had been no exception. So, Gregor had instead asked how he was supposed to recognize this apparently human "Death Rider" when he saw him.

Do not worry about that, Overlander. Nerissa had essentially forced the scroll into his hand. You will most certainly know it when he stands before you. He is the One who rides Death.

The one who rides death. Gregor held the stranger's gaze. "You are the rider of death; didn't he—eh, Thanatos say that?"

A long moment passed, then the stranger shrugged and snatched the scroll out of Gregor's hand so suddenly that he had to hold it together to not flinch back. "Fine, fine," he said. "It's not like it will take up much space in my pocket."

It was then that the boat plunged into the water. Everyone screamed, and Gregor tumbled back, once again into Twitchtip, who hadn't moved from her spot. Howard dropped his sword and was barely caught by Mareth; Luxa almost fell onto her own unsheathed blade, and the rider stumbled over Thanatos and cursed when he landed harshly on his behind. Only when Gregor caught sight of Boots safely in Temp's grasp did he breathe out in relief.

When the boat finally stopped rocking, four bats dropped from the sky, one after another, causing it to sway again.

"What did we miss?" asked Andromeda.

"Ares!" Gregor exhaled in relief.

"It is good to see that you are well," his bat replied, and Gregor gave him a smile that he hoped would convey that he was and that there was no need for guilt for not coming to save him.

"Was there a mention of a Death Rider just now?" asked Pandora, eyeing the strangers with round eyes.

"He is no Death Rider," replied Howard sourly, but Luxa, now with Aurora by her side, stared at the stranger with round eyes.

"The Death Rider . . ." she mumbled absentmindedly, her gaze wandering back and forth between the strangers. She seemed less unbelieving than Howard. Gregor eyed her; if Henry had loved to tell tales about this Death Rider, she likely knew the legend well.

"He?" asked Ares, inching closer. "I suppose it was inevitable that the tales were exaggerations."

"Hey!" yelled the stranger, and then he froze mid-sentence. Gregor thought he was staring at Ares.

His head whipped around to his bat, but before he could ask if they knew each other or something, he was interrupted. "Whoever he may or may not be, we have not yet decided what to do with them," said Mareth, and everyone, who had broken into more or less agitated murmurs, quieted down.

"Whatever they do, they cannot stay," said Howard immediately, turning to Mareth for confirmation.

"You cannot drive us away now!" the stranger protested at once. "We will not survive if you do." When everyone stared at him, confused, he glanced at Thanatos. "He cannot continue on without rest. Not after flying all this way and then performing that rescue maneuver. It has been over . . . thirty hours in the air now, I wager. We saved your warrior's life!" he exclaimed suddenly. "Will you condemn us to certain death after that?"

"Well, nobody asked you to rescue the rat, and—"

"Wait." It was Pandora who cut Luxa off. "Did you just say you . . . have been in the air for thirty hours? You mean thirty?!"

"They came from the northern coast," mumbled Ares, aghast. "They—"

"We meant to fly all the way," announced the stranger boldly, putting his hands on his hips. "To cross the waterway and tick one never-before-achieved thing off our list."

Pandora released a high-pitched squeal, and all the bats stirred, breaking into something like excited murmurs; even the humans began whispering between themselves. Gregor saw Luxa and Howard exchange glances and felt Ares behind him tense. He looked back at the strangers. That's right, he thought, remembering his conversation with Ares earlier about how no bat had ever crossed the waterway in one go.

"Many thanks for the ruined opportunity, by the way," said the rider, earning a shove from Thanatos. Gone was his previous hesitation; he now stood with newfound confidence. Under his mask, Gregor thought he made out a crooked grin, and he couldn't shake off the feeling of recognition in the pose and the unapologetic, excessive self-assurance.

Well, no, he thought, maybe "recognition" wasn't the right word; he had never seen him before. But Gregor couldn't help but associate the way he spoke and carried himself with a certain type of people—that guy in teen movies who always had a crowd of admirers: the captain of the football team, the Homecoming King, who dazzled with his charming smile and confident swagger one moment and then turned to bully less popular kids for the sheer fun of it in the next.

As grateful as he still was that they had saved him, Gregor immediately found him less sympathetic.

"Considering this is you, Thanatos," said Mareth eventually. "I am more surprised than I likely should be. And . . . you are right. We cannot deny what you did for us, for Gregor."

"Mareth, you do not seriously consider granting them refuge?" hissed Howard.

"Oh no, not more stowaways!" complained Zap. "More mouths to feed!"

"We shall not get a tenth of our promised fill at this rate!" replied Photos Glow-Glow.

"But we cannot condemn them!" Pandora chimed in excitedly. "First, we must learn about how he planned to achieve this flight over the waterway!"

"But they are outcasts!" Howard snapped at her. "Who knows what they did to end up as such?"

"Howard is right," said Luxa coldly. "It is madness. He still has not even told us who he is."

"Thanatos was not cast out." Everyone whipped around to her when Andromeda spoke suddenly. "He chose to leave on his own accord."

Gregor stared at the striking bat with the white face; only on the side did he register the stunned murmur that followed Andromeda's words. What was that supposed to mean—he had run away? Wasn't exile a form of death sentence in the Underland?

"And . . . what of him?" Howard had apparently found his words first. The tip of his sword once again hovered over the rider's chest.

There was a moment of silence, then it was unexpectedly disrupted by someone who hadn't raised his voice yet: "He is a friend, he is."

Everyone stared at Temp, who approached slowly from where he had sat with Boots. He was usually not much of a talker, especially in bigger groups, and when he found all eyes on him, he twitched nervously.

"What do you mean?" asked Luxa.

In front of the strangers, Temp rose to his hind legs and inspected the human, then hummed. "You are who my kind speaks of, you are. They call you "Wielder of Light", and as savior, they praise you, they do."

"Wielder of . . . Light?" Mareth asked.

"What kind of name is that?" Photos Glow-Glow exclaimed.

The stranger sighed. "Yes, it is I!" He performed an exaggerated bow. "Your Wielder of Light. Cevian did not exaggerate when she said that this reputation as the savior of the crawlers would be mine for all eternity," he said more quietly.

Before Gregor could really ask himself why he seemed so unhappy about being the savior of the crawlers, how he had earned himself a name like "Wielder of Light" . . . or who this Cevian was, Luxa spoke: "Whoever he is to you, Temp, we can hardly base our decision on that."

"If he goes around wasting his time on saving crawlers, he cannot be very useful," whined Zap.

"Either way." Howard crossed his arms. "We should stop wasting time and make our decision about them."

Luxa stepped forward. "As queen, I shall—"

"With all due respect," Mareth cut her off. "At sea, we are all equals. This boat is not your property; it carries and provides for all of us, and so it belongs to all of us as well. A decision will be made unanimously."

Luxa shot him a furious glare, but she dared not protest. Gregor wondered if she remembered that she was technically a stowaway on this quest. "Fine," she said after a while, although she still looked angry. "In that case, how will we decide?"

"What if we vote?" Gregor hadn't even realized he was the one speaking until he felt all eyes on him.

"That is a brilliant idea, Gregor." Mareth smiled, turning to the others. "We vote." Nobody dared to argue.

First, Mareth called for votes in favor of driving the strangers away. Luxa and Howard raised their hands instantly; the fireflies gave their vote too. "We cannot have more stowaways to feed our precious food!" said Photos-Glow-Glow emphatically.

Then Mareth asked for the counter-vote and immediately raised his own hand. Seconds later, Gregor did the same. Even if they wouldn't have saved him, he would never condone condemning them to death.

Beside him, Twitchtip signaled her approval too. Gregor gave her a smile that he hoped looked encouraging; she hadn't said a word this whole time, but she also owed the strangers her life. Temp waved his antennas next, and then Gregor watched with surprise how all four bats expressed their support, one after the other. Even Aurora, who hadn't spoken yet either, nodded respectfully—to Luxa's visible dismay. "We cannot dishonor such an incredible feat as the one that he has almost accomplished," the golden bat said after a pause.

Gregor stared at Thanatos. For the bats, almost crossing the waterway had to be like winning an Olympic medal or setting a new world record, he thought.

"Not only that, but you have saved Gregor's life," said Ares after a pause. "For that, I am in your debt."

As much as he wanted to comfort Ares and assure him that he hadn't done anything wrong, Gregor found himself staring at everyone who had just expressed their opinion. Realizing that those in favor of granting the strangers refuge were a clear majority, he smiled.

"This is not fair!" cried Luxa, who was not used to not getting her way. "I will order them to leave! You can not command me!"

Instead of paying her any mind, Mareth walked over to Gregor and finally draped a blanket over his shoulders. Only when he could wrap himself in the sheet did Gregor realize he was shivering.

"The people have spoken," Mareth said, turning to Luxa. "And every good queen should know when to listen to her people."

Gregor wrapped the blanket around himself tighter, scanning the boat for Boots. With how stubborn she was, he thought it would take a while until Luxa would learn that, but he said nothing. Instead, he thought that he had never craved a hot bath more desperately—in the Underland or otherwise.