Antiphon

In the young captain’s fuming, Rudolfo saw the boy’s father, Gregoric, in the tightly clenched jaw and the narrow eyes. Then, he turned to Lysias. “Draw up the plans for it. But it is to be kept secret at all costs. Our kin-claves are tenuous at best, and this is not the Gypsy way.” Even as he spoke, his hands moved in the sign language of House Y’Zir. Work with him, Aedric.

Aedric did not answer at first. Then, his hand moved, though with reluctance. Yes, General.

Now Jin Li Tam’s face was troubled. Do not ask me, Rudolfo willed, but she did it anyway, her fingers moving along the side of her wineglass. Are you certain, love?

Rudolfo stood and looked to her, hoping his eyes would not betray his answer. “I beg your forgiveness,” he said. “Please excuse me.”

Then, turning, he left the dining room. He stepped quickly past the Gypsy Scouts assigned to guard him, ducked around a corner and slipped into one of dozens of passages kept hidden for just these reasons. He walked at a brisk pace along the narrow corridors and slipped through a hidden door into the garden.

His Whymer Maze towered in the moonlight, and the frogs raised their voice to the blue-green moon. Looking over his shoulder to be sure none followed him, he moved past the maze and into a copse of trees he rarely visited these days.

There, near a white stone marked simply with three names, he sat upon a marble meditation bench that none had sat upon for decades. After a long silence, he finally spoke, and it was the voice of a frightened boy.

“Father,” he said to the stone, “I do not know this path.”

Then, in silence, Rudolfo sat still and begged answer from the ground of Jakob’s Rest.

Chapter 4

Petronus

Petronus raised his eyebrows and looked at the man who rocked to and fro before him. “So what you’re proposing”-he glanced to the report from Grymlis in his hands, looking for the name once more-“Geoffrus, is it?” At the man’s hurried nod, Petronus continued. “What you’re proposing is that you and your company of men supply our entire outpost with hunting, trapping and scouting services for-” He scanned the report again, but the numbers ran together into a blur. “Well,” he finally said, “for significant barter, primarily in metal goods and fabrics from the other side of the gate.”

Geoffrus nodded. “Yes, Luxpadre. I-or I should say we-are prepared to execute on a time-is-of-the-essence basis, immediately, that is, to give you and your Ash-Men the best our Madding Lands can offer.”

Petronus sat back in the wooden chair and rubbed his eyes. Here in the shade, the afternoon sun still kept the day warmer than comfortable for his tastes, accustomed more to the cool seaborne breezes on Caldus Bay than the hot wind of the Churning Wastes. Already, his robe was damp from sweat, though the man across the table from him looked dry and comfortable.

The Waster was a slight man, dressed in tattered clothing shored up with patches and bits of leather. He’d sought audience at least three times before over the past several months, and Petronus had managed to hold the meeting at bay. But finally, he’d relented and agreed to see the man when it became obvious that this Geoffrus was not going to pick up on the subtle social cue of disinterest Petronus had attempted.

Petronus offered a weak smile. “I’m certain your offer is very generous, Geoffrus.”

The man beamed, the black root stains showing on his teeth. “You will not find more generous terms and conditions, Luxpadre.”

Petronus went back to the report and found Grymlis’s scribbled note. “Yes, I’m sure of it,” he said, “but there is the matter of what game you intend to provide us? As you no doubt know, the Ninefold Forest keeps us well provisioned, to include game.”

Geoffrus nodded again, this time with added vehemence. “Yes, yes, the contract is flexible in that regard, of course, to provide you and yours with the finest selection our significant and highly desirable skills might provide. Such succulent tasties as the Rainbow-Men could not imagine.”

Petronus knew better, of course. He and Grymlis had gone over his report earlier that morning. The men he’d sent into Fargoer’s Station had gathered every bit of information they could on this part of the world, including what scraps could be found on this Geoffrus and his small band of Waste thieves. He already knew the rumors. People who trusted these particular men tended to disappear. He wondered what further information Isaak might be able to send him from the archived records of the Office of Expeditionary Unction-but also knew that that knowledge wasn’t necessarily worth the effort when he already knew his answer. “I’m certain that you are highly skilled,” he said. “Though to be perfectly honest, we do not require your services at this time.” Then, he smiled. “However, I am deeply gratified by your proposal. I recognize that you’ve gone to enormous efforts on our behalf, with nothing but our best interests in mind.”

Geoffrus grinned again. “Aye, we have. Aye, we have,” he said, repeating himself quickly.

Petronus returned the smile. “Therefore, I am pleased to offer you and yours tokens to assure you of our gratitude.” He motioned, and a young Androfrancine approached, carrying a haphazard pile of folded fabric.

As the tattered Waster took in the armful of cloth his eyes went wide along with the smile. “This is indeed most generous of you, Luxpadre.”

“Ask him about the runners in the Wastes.”

Petronus looked up at the nearby voice, recognizing it but not placing it. “I’m sorry?”

Geoffrus said nothing. Beside him, the young man with the cloth also remained silent.

Petronus looked around to see who else could have spoken, but other than these two, no one else stood close enough. Still, the voice was one he knew. When had he heard it last?

He felt the blood drain from his face when the memory found him. You heard it yesterday, old man.

Suddenly, he wanted very much to leap up from the table and flee but forced himself to stay. A new smell filled his nose, driving out the acrid scent of the hot wind and the dried sweat of the unwashed man before him. No, it was roses and lavender he smelled now, as a summer breeze caught the aroma of his gardens and wafted them into his office window, and-

Petronus blinked, forcing himself back to the conversation. “These,” he said, “are a gift. But I can offer you something even finer in exchange for a bit of information.”

Geoffrus looked to the stack of cloth and then back to Petronus. “What finer?” he asked. “What information?”

Petronus drew in his breath. “What do you know about runners in the Wastes?”

Geoffrus’s eyes narrowed. “Ash-Men do not run. Rainbow-Men run. Renard runs.” At the man’s name, he spit in the dirt. “And Geoffrus runs.” He licked his lips. “What finer for me and mine?”

Petronus closed his eyes, only for a moment, but when he opened them the world had bent and twisted away. Once more he sat in his papal office. Outside, the smell of summer was heavy from the gardens below.

He looked back to the table, and now, across from him, sat the man he’d seen the day before. He was bent over a large map that was spread out, and Petronus saw it was a map of the Churning Wastes. “Intelligence is problematic, of course,” the man said, “but we’re aware of runners here, here and here.” Each time, he pointed to a different section of the map with a chewed pencil. “They are magicked. We suspect blood magicks, though they do not appear constrained in the same way that the Marshers have been.”

Petronus blinked again and tried to recall where he’d been just now. There had been heat. And smell, though nothing quite as lovely as roses on the wind. “Who are you?” he asked.

The man looked up, his eyes hollow. “We suspect they’re looking for the same thing we are, but it could be worse than that.”

“And what are we looking for, exactly?”

The man studied Petronus before answering. “We’re looking for the mechoservitors,” he finally said.