“I do.”
“I knew it!”
Lady Fayth took a sip of coffee and resumed her confession. “The Black Earl knows about the green book. He has read it, in fact…” She allowed herself a sly smile. “That is to say, he has read the portions I permitted him to read. Certain pages of Sir Henry’s book I thought best to keep to myself.” She finished her coffee and pushed her cup aside. “Do you have any idea where Kit has gone?”
“Across the river,” Mina hedged. “That’s what they’re saying. No doubt he’ll turn up again once Burleigh has gone.”
“Yes, well, we must hope and pray he remains out of sight. I do not expect the Black Earl will allow him to escape a third time.”
“It must have been a sight. What will Burleigh do now?”
“Resume his search for the map,” replied Haven. “What else can he do? It is clear that neither Cosimo nor Uncle Henry possessed the map; it was not passed on to Kit. So Cosimo’s portion remains to be found.”
The young woman stood and brushed her hands down the front of her dress. “I must go. His Lordship will be wondering what has become of me.” She smiled nicely. “Thank you for the coffee, and for your confidence. The knowledge that I have a secret ally in this fight-and mark you it is a most desperate fight-renews my faith and courage.” She took Wilhelmina’s hand. “May I call you my friend?”
Wilhelmina was taken aback by the question. “Of course.”
“Good. I like that. I have no other friend in which to confide,” she said. Then, still gripping Wilhelmina’s hand, added, “The burden of the quest is ours now. It falls to us to see it through-for better or worse.”
Lady Fayth took her leave, and Wilhelmina saw her to the coffeehouse door. “For better or worse,” echoed Wilhelmina, watching as her new ally sailed into the great market square. “We’re in it up to our eyeballs, girlfriend. Be true to me, and I will love you like a sister,” she said under her breath. “Betray me, and you will wish you’d never been born.”
CHAPTER 33
T he trees all along the river turned spectacular shades of red, orange, and yellow, and one morning Kit arose to the sight of the leaves falling at once in a silent golden storm. The next day rain came to the valley. A chill north wind stripped the remaining leaves from the trees. The clan gathered all the weapons and tools-the stout spears and axes, the scrapers and pounders, the short, stone-bladed knives-and bundled up their skins and sleeping mats and coils of woven fibre rope, and moved out.
This happened, as so much else, without any discussion that Kit could detect. They simply understood that today was moving day, and everyone began packing. Kit pitched in by rolling the skins he used for sleeping and shouldering the spears. He had learned that whatever he did by way of helping with the chores was always remarked on by the clan, who more and more seemed to regard him as an exotic and unexpectedly useful pet.
When everything had been gathered, Big Hunter led them back through the valley. They followed the river downstream and, owing to the mostly bare trees and shrubs, Kit could get a better sense of the size and shape of the great limestone gorge that was their home. In places the grey curtains of stone rose to tower hundreds of feet above them-now so close the sheer walls cast the narrow gap in perpetual shadow, now so far apart they were but a hazy backdrop rising above the forest. At the narrow parts, the river ran fast over a lumpy bed of well-tumbled stones; when the walls receded, the water widened and deepened to a dark, slow-moving river. But whether quick and shallow or deep and slow, the river wound and wiggled its way through mostly deciduous woodland.
They walked all morning and stopped to rest around midday in a grove on the edge of a spacious meadow of long grass, now dry. They picked and ate some late blackberries and lazed in the sun, which shed a thin warmth from a dead white sky. Kit found a flat rock, stretched himself out on it, and napped until it was time to move on again. They did not stop until the sun had dropped below the cliff tops, and then they found a hollow near the river where they made a simple camp.
No fire was lit that night, and Kit discovered just how inadequate his clothing had become. He wrapped himself in his sleeping skins, but nevertheless spent most of the long dark hours shivering and wakeful. He had known the day was coming when he would have to augment his wardrobe with furs such as the River City Clan wore, but he thought he would have a little more time to get himself properly outfitted.
They decamped early the next morning and trekked along the ever-deepening river. As they passed the trail that marked the ley, Kit tested the ley lamp yet again, but received no response. He had not expected any, but nevertheless resumed the journey with a slightly heavier footstep than before. Pausing only to rest and drink, the clan reached their destination as the sun sank below the canyon rim. Their new home was a massive limestone ledge carved out of the great curtain wall of the gorge, perhaps fifty or sixty feet above the valley floor and overlooking a wide expanse of river. Kit could see why they had chosen it as a wintering place: the ledge was south facing to catch the sun and, owing to the generous overhang, away from the wind and very dry. Farther back, the ledge gave way to two chambers, the smaller of which was a natural basin filled with water that seeped down through the stone from somewhere above. Aside from having to gather firewood and haul it up from the woods below, it was perfect.
In all, Kit estimated they had travelled at least twenty miles from the first camp, which meant they were fifteen or so miles from the ley that had brought him to the valley-too far to just nip ’round and check it from time to time, a fact he noted with some regret. But soon he was too busy to worry about it for, with their move to winter quarters, the clan also set about stockpiling food and supplies for the winter.
The hunters-both males and females, for Kit had long since noted that hunting was not strictly a guys-only pursuit-had gone out only every third or fourth day when they were back at River City. Now they went out every day, leaving before sunrise and coming home around midday. The hunt had taken on a sense of seriousness and purpose previously lacking.
The older, nonhunting females likewise busied themselves with gathering roots and berries, preparing furs and skins, weaving rope, and storing nuts and other odds and ends they would need for the long, cold season ahead. Gradually they transformed the bare rock ledge into something resembling a utopia as envisaged by a band of survivalist gypsies.
At first Kit stayed in camp and watched the little ones so their elders could hunt and gather. Kit had yet to figure out the parentage of the young ones, since none of the elders seemed to take any proprietary interest in any particular individual; all treated each and every one with alike deference and regard. By way of helping out, Kit was content to play babysitter, inasmuch as it allowed him to spend some time getting to grips with Sir Henry’s book-as he had been in his idle moments ever since joining the clan. While he read, the youngsters played around his feet. The littlest of the lot accepted him as a natural part of their world and responded to him as they would to any other elder. The slightly older children seemed more aware of his otherness and were shy around him.
But that changed the day Kit began to learn their language.
The adults had trooped off, leaving him in charge as had become the custom. This time Kit noticed that some of the older tykes had begun vocalising to the younger ones, repeating the same sounds over and over again, which the infants imitated. So Kit joined in the game and was soon enrolled in this rudimentary language class. The clan thought this a smashing good game and vied with each other to teach him sounds. When he had mastered the basics, one of the older children brought him a stone and put it in his hand.
Kit held it up. “What?” he said.
To his amazement the child paused and very clearly replied, “Tok.”
“Tok,” said Kit. He put down the stone and picked up another pebble and held it in the palm of his hand.
“Tok.” The young one tapped the pebble, repeating the word.
Just to see if he understood correctly, Kit tossed the pebble away and then patted the smooth stone surface of the limestone ledge on which they sat. “What?”
Again, the same word was repeated: tok. And Kit had effectively doubled his Stone Age vocabulary. He now knew the word for stone to add to his mental dictionary beside the word for bear. Next they tried water, which
