“Trying to show off for your friends—characters— was your first mistake,” said Jack. “Taking my writing and using it as your own was just…first of all, that’s plagiarism. And second of all…you’re not stupid. You had to have known it could become a problem.”

Dreadlilocks hung her head. “…I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I just…thought it would be like ‘borrowing’…”

“‘Borrowing’ works because you already know the characters and scenes you’re trying to use. What you ended up doing was just merging your writing with mine. Which is why the things I was thinking about, like the Odsplut and the phantasms, started showing up in your work.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re still my character, you know. You could easily have died…”

“I know…I’m sorry…”

Jack sighed, and returned to his chair. “Honestly…sometimes I forget that you’re still just a kid…” he muttered.

Dreadli stood up slowly, still somewhat shaken by the harrowing events of her dream. “…So…what now…?” she asked. “Is it too late…?”

“We still exist, so, no,” Jack answered. “But we are running out of time, if that’s what you’re asking: LaConte is pretty much gone. All that’s left of this world is the moon, and there was never much here in the first place, so…”

“So I…have to go now…”

“Well, let’s talk about the plan first.”

He tented his fingers. “So, timescaling,” he began. “I left some notes for you in my book. Did you read them?”

“I…think so. I feel like I know how it works,” Dreadli replied. “You just…think about things one at a time, and no matter how long it takes, time only passes as fast as you’re writing.”

“Good answer. That was almost gibberish.”

“So anyway, that’s what you’re gonna be doing for me, while I die,” he went on. “Of course, if all goes well, I won’t actually die…all you have to do is find my Odsplut and release it, and I promise I’ll take over from there.”

“Where am I supposed to go to find it? And then, how do I release it…?” Dreadlilocks asked.

Jack pulled a page out of his book. “Mère L’Oye— and by extension, my Odsplut— will be in a place called the Deathbed.”

Dreadlilocks expected to receive a map, but instead Jack handed her a picture: a crude drawing of an old woman, nestled in a chariot shaped like the crescent moon. Hitched to the chariot were two birds, one white and one black.

“The white bird is…well, you don’t need to worry about it,” Jack explained. “The black bird is my Odsplut. You’ll probably have to cut its reins or something…I can’t really know what it’ll take to set it free. But if you just try, it may be enough.”

Dreadlilocks stared at the paper. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Is this supposed to tell me how to get there…?”

“Sort of. You have to write your way there; that’s how you get anywhere on the moon. And in order to do that, you have to know what you’re looking for…I know I’m not the best artist in the world, but I thought at least some kind of image might help with that.”

“Another thing that might help is…understanding,” he continued. “Understanding the story behind this place, I mean.” He ran his fingers through his hair, briefly revealing his left eye. “I think I should tell you about the day I went to the Deathbed, if you can stand it.”

Dreadli wrapped one of her locs around her hand. “…It’s a sad story, isn’t it…?” she said.

“Well, what do you think? You can see the results for yourself…”

“In that case…I don’t know if I can stand it right now.”

She turned around. “…I know there isn’t any time for me to be thinking about myself,” she said quietly. “But I…I don’t know, I just…need a break. I don’t…feel good…”

Jack stared at her for a while. Then he stood up, letting his coat slide off his shoulders.

“…Okay,” he said. “You wanna sit in the chair?”