The Moon Is Afraid of Heights

How it begins

Nadia Bell found the moon underneath her workbench, between a broken ladder and a box of hinges.

It was smaller than she expected. About the size of a good pumpkin, with a light that made the sawdust look briefly important.

"You're not supposed to be here," she said.

"I know."

The moon rolled deeper into the shadows.

Nadia crouched slowly. Outside, the village clock struck midnight. The workshop window showed a sky full of stars and one conspicuous absence.

"Did you fall?"

"No. I came down carefully. That's part of the difficulty."

Someone knocked at the door.

Owen Saye stood outside holding his ferry lantern. He had brought the long expression of a man whose passengers had begun discussing an omen while still expecting him to provide a reliable crossing.

"Have you noticed anything unusual?"

Nadia looked over her shoulder.

The moon was attempting to hide behind a hinge.

She stepped aside.

Owen entered, stopped, and took off his cap.

"Good evening."

"It isn't especially," said the moon.

They sat on two stools. Nadia resisted the urge to fill the silence with a practical suggestion. She made ladders for people who often wanted to reach things before considering whether the ground beneath them was steady.

"What would help?" she asked.

The moon's light trembled along the floorboards.

"I don't want to go back up alone."

Owen glanced at the window. The stars continued shining, very far away and apparently unaware that company might require more than being visible.

"How long have you felt like this?"

"About six hundred years. I thought it might become less embarrassing."

Nadia looked at the tallest ladder against the wall, then at the small glowing visitor beside her boots.

For once, she suspected the first task was not building something higher.

She closed the workshop door against the cold and put the kettle on.