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I blew out the pumpkin candle, my nose twitching as smoke curled from the wick, then jerked the curtains closed and wrapped myself in a hooded cape.

I opened the back door and paused.

On a groan, I pivoted and snatched my hat off the rack. Just for the trip there, I told myself. Just for the trip, and then I would remove it, tuck it someplace safe.

Outside, a weather vane swiveled atop our gable roof. The second story overhang jutted like a pouting lip, the timber and plaster of our home bathed in twilight.

In the backyard, I stopped beside a birdhouse. Crafted of multiple levels along a tree trunk, it had swings and ladders. A custom palace for its owner.

From one of the compartments came a rhythmic tap. I felt the side of my mouth twitch, the surface of my cheek indenting. I leaned my shoulder against the tree and knocked three times.

Rap-raprap.

In response,Peck-peckpeck.

I shuffled out of the way. A figured popped from one of the holes and soared, circling, circling. The outline of a beak and wings appeared. The woodpecker twirled in front of my nose, a half-disc of orange feathers running along the length of her skull, like the comb of a battle helmet.

“Are you ready?” I asked. “Or are you still boycotting?”

The indignant bird unleashed a hoarse string oftchurs. Although her Mista morals and daily assault on my conscience irritated me, she also didn’t take my orders. I respected that.

“You’re right,” I said. “That was rude of me. What I meant to say was, ‘Good evening, Punk. Will you accompany your friend on a crime spree?’”

She objected with another shrill call. She didn’t approve of this. If it were up to her, she’d nix this plan.

I quit the sarcasm. “Punk, I need your help.”

Then I held my breath, unwilling to voice how I’d feel if she didn’t come. Her feathers drooped, and she perched on my shoulder, albeit with a grudge. I ducked my head, hiding a small grin.

We approached the house’s hip, where a wagon and mule stood by the shed. I scrutinized the vessel and four-hoofed animal with its muzzle buried in a carrot basket. As special as its fringed hooves might be, I saw a pauper’s transport.

“We need to buy a horse,” I complained.

Yes, this mule was a fine Autumn breed. Yes, everyone begged to purchase her.

Butfinewas for peasants. And yes, we weren’t nobles or gentry, but we were a distinguished trade family. We had shingles on our roof. We had our own bedrooms. Wedeserveda horse.

I scowled at the sky. “My skin is a mess, we need a proper animal, and I’ll murder those clouds if it rains tonight.”

Punk flew to the wagon. To illustrate a point, she pecked at the protective cover draped across the rear of the cart. Ugh.

“The cover could leak,” I hissed. “If it does, I’ll be waterlogged. You know how long it takes for me to dry!”

Punk tweeted at me to calm down. I clamped my mouth shut. Maybe I should have detoured to the tavern earlier today and ordered a syrup shot, to beat off the anxiety.

Definitely, I shouldn’t be taking the wagon. A smart person would go on foot.

But from this section of the lower town, that would take forever, and people would suspect me more if they saw me skulking at this hour. With a wagon, I’d give the impression of hiding nothing. In the past, neighbors had seen me take it on late rides, either for a lark or a kissing rendezvous. It wouldn’t seem strange to them.

With Punk squatting on the bench beside me, we left our home behind. More gutted pumpkins and gourds sat on the sills of other buildings, twitching with orange candlelight for Hallo Fest, the only annual holiday here besides Harvest Fest.

I took a route on the outskirts of town, where patches of grass covered the lane, making for a quieter ride. The wagon wheels croaked, but not like they would along cobblestones.

The Autumn moon glared at me. What did that orb, or the Seasons, have against tonight’s mission? I had fair reasons, even if they were illegal.

Show me one person in this land who’d never done wrong.

Show me one person who’d never lied, for good or ill. Even in honorable Mista, show me one person who’d never broken a rule, in order to get ahead.