longer on top of Grand Central Terminal. It was, instead, being given a sky-ride

on the end of a rope by a large winged sow. It smashed through the side of a

brick building, which I think made it a little mad. It shook its head and began

to climb the rope.

 

I glanced down at the street. We were coming up on the main public library, with

the big marble lions flanking the steps. Suddenly I had a weird thought: Could

stone statues be automatons too? It seemed like a long shot, but . . .

 

"Faster!" I told Blackjack. "Get in front of the pig, Taunt him!"

 

Um, boss —

 

"Trust me," I said. "I can do this . . . probably."

 

Oh, sure. Mock the horse.

 

Blackjack burst through the air. He could fly pretty darned fast when he wanted

to. He got in front of the pig, which now had a metal Hermes on its back.

 

Blackjack whinnied. You smell like ham! He kicked the pig in the snout with his

back hooves and went into a steep dive. The pig screamed in rage and followed.

 

We barreled straight for the front steps of the library. Blackjack slowed down

just enough for me to hop off, then he kept flying toward the main doors.