Chapter Two: The Addressee Lives in a Pocket

Milo set the mailbag on her desk. A thread of white vapor rose from its opening, followed by a little cloud no bigger than a teapot. Its face hid between two puffs of fluff, leaving only its eyes in view.

“Are you the weather inside my mailbag?” Milo asked.

The little cloud shook its head and scattered three beads of mist. “My name is Mallow. I am only borrowing the room. Everywhere else, people carry buckets. The moment they see a cloud, they ask when it plans to rain.”

Milo took out the letter. At the sight of its raindrop stamp, Mallow shrank into a gray-white ball and hid between Milo’s ears.

“This is for you.”

“It must be an overdue-rain notice,” Mallow mumbled.

Milo did not open it. A postwoman’s job was to place a letter in the correct hands—or at the correct edge of a cloud. She held it flat upon her palm and waited for a very long time.

At last, Mallow extended one tiny curl of cloud and touched the corner. As if it had recognized its recipient, the envelope shone with a ring of pale blue light.