"In the summer, sometimes," Harvey replied, wanting to get back to the business of flying.

But Rictus took the conversation in another direction entirely. "On nights like this," he said, "doesn't it seem like there'll never be another summer?"

"It sure does" said Harvey.

"You know I heard you sighing a mile off, and I said to myself `There's a kid who needs a vacation.'" He consulted his watch. "If you've got the time, that is."

"The time?"

"For a trip, boy, for a trip! You need an adventure, young Swick. Somewhere...out of this world."

"How'd you hear me sighing when you were a mile away?" Harvey wanted to know.

"Why should you care? I heard you. That's all that matters."

"Is it magic of some kind?"

"Maybe."

"Why won't you tell me?"

Rictus gave Harvey a beady stare. "I think you're too inquisitive for your own good, that's why," he said, his smile decaying a little. "If you don't want help, that's fine by me."

He made a move toward the window. The wind was still gusting against the glass, as though eager to come back in and carry its passenger away.

"Wait," Harvey said.

"For what?"

"I'm sorry. I won't ask any more questions."

Rictus halted, his hand on the latch. "No more questions, eh?"

"I promise," said Harvey. "I told you: I'm sorry."

"So you did. So you did." Rictus peered out at the rain. "I know a place where the days are always sunny," he said, "and the nights are full of wonders."

"Could you take me there?"

"We said no questions, boy. We agreed."

"Oh. Yeah. I'm sorry."

"Being a forgiving sort, I'll forget you spoke, and I'll tell you this: If you want me to inquire on your behalf, I'll see if they've got room for another guest."