moot.”
Again Hecht offered only an interrogative monosyllable.
“We have to see Principat? Delari before we make any other plans.”
A premonitory chill crawled Hecht’s back. His own desires could become so much chaff in the breeze should the Night be driving down some rigorous line of its own.
The Delari town house was in the throes of a dramatic makeover. Not just repairs to damage but a total renovation. The staff had expanded by a dozen, all hard-eyed rogues who were as alert as ever Madouc’s gang had been. Each hailed from the Principat?’s own clan. Which made them kin of Muniero Delari’s grandchildren.
Supper was served at the usual table by the usual servants, Turking and Felske. As the first course arrived, Delari explained, “Everything changed when Bronte Donte achieved his ambition. I expect him to resurrect the conflict that brought us head-to-head not so long ago.”
He said this in front of Anna and the children. Who looked to Hecht for an explanation. Hecht did not deliver.
He did say, “Two of us got you out of that. Whatever became of the other one?”
“Armand? I don’t know. The little weasel vanished seconds after Hugo Mongoz expired. I suppose it’s too much to hope that Doneto’s partisans did away with him.”
“What’s the construction all about?” Hecht asked. “What’s going on?”
“Forting up.”
“I get that. But what about us, here? This isn’t just me and the family stopping in for a friendly supper. You look almost guilty. Which tells me there’s something going on. Heris implied as much, the way she acted. Where is she, anyway?”
“She’ll be here any minute.”
Turking and Felske brought the courses with a noteworthy absence of enthusiasm. As though they were stalling.
Heris came in, roughly dressed. Turking and Felske hustled in the small courses she had missed. Even Mrs. Creedon took a moment to bring her a single marinated cheese and onion-stuffed mushroom. Heris grunted pleasure and dug in. Evidently her story would be shared only if necessary.
Principat? Delari became taciturn, his contribution to table talk vague questions for the girls about their progress at school. To which Lila was the unexpectedly enthusiastic respondent. She found intellectual pursuits more interesting than did Vali. Hecht was surprised.
People never stopped not being what you expected.
Turking and Felske came to life. In a trice they produced the clutter of another place setting as Cloven Februaren dragged in.
Hecht observed, “Borrowing from my friend Pinkus, you look like death on a stick.”
“No doubt.” Cloven Februaren did look like he had suffered extreme starvation.
Delari said, “He’s the picture of health, now. You should’ve seen him this morning. I thought his story was over.”
The Ninth Unknown settled. He picked at his food, ferociously. He made Vali and Lila uncomfortable. Anna needed to release those girls into the wild. They needed re-exposure to reality. They had developed amnesia about their own early romances with the harsh side. Februaren said, “I spent a night in Elf Hill. It was worse than any of the stories.”
Hecht said, “I don’t get it.”
Delari said, “You should. It’s part of the northern thing. Up there people believe that we share the world with lots of other races. The Hidden Folk, collectively. Pixies. Brownies. The Fair Folk. Light elves and dark elves. Goblins, dwarves, the People of the Sea. And dozens more.”
“Not to mention the evil dead,” Februaren grumped.
Delari ignored him. “The Hidden Folk get up to all sorts of mischief. Some good, some bad, according to their nature. More bad than good, of course. A favorite trick is to lure a mortal into their realm, where time passes differently.”
“Usually a lot slower over there,” Februaren said. “In the Realm of the Gods it was the other way around. I used up all my food and was starving. It’s true about the food, too. It helped me forget I was hungry but it didn’t provide enough nourishment.”
Delari said, “The point is, while he was there for months only a few days passed here.”
“So you did what you went off to do. You released the…”
“I did not. Not even close. The Old Ones are locked up like olives inside a cask closed inside a sealed barrel. My success amounted to opening the way between the middle world and the Realm of the Gods. This being what those involved with the northern thing call the middle world. Because of where it stands in relation to the other worlds involved in their concept of the universe. Oh. Success number two. I talked the Aelen Kofer into helping break the Old Ones out.”
Hecht resisted a conditioned response, reminding himself, yet again, that all beliefs were true inside the Night.
The children had grown bored. The Ninth Unknown had not described his adventure in epic terms. Which was a little out of character.
Februaren said, “After all that positive news you just know there’s got to be a catch.”
Principat? Delari seemed to be hearing all this for the first time, too. “Grandfather. Please.”
Februaren’s grin was a ghost of itself. “All right. Time is important. The way is open. The magic is flowing in. The Aelen Kofer can rebuild the rainbow bridge to the Great Sky Fortress. We can get that far.”
“But?” Delari, with a scowl.
“But the Windwalker is on his way. And we can’t get inside. Only someone with the blood of the Old Ones can crack the last barrier.”
Delari said, “And those of the blood are all inside.”
“Basically. I thought the ascendant could manage. He has chunks of the knowledge of Ordnan and Arlensul. And he shut them in. It seemed logical that he could undo what he did.”
“But not so,” Delari guessed.
“No. He did the job too damned good. And there is some mythological imperative at work. One even a freethinker like me, because I spent my life immersed in Brothen Episcopal Chaldarean culture, can’t get to make sense. What it comes down to is, if we’re going to spring the Old Ones so they can stop the Windwalker, we need someone of their blood to kick down the door.”
Anna startled everyone by chiming in. “From what I’ve heard, the male Old Ones doinked every farmer’s and woodcutter’s daughter they ran into when they visited our world.”
“It would be hard to find those descendants,” Delari said. “They haven’t done that sort of thing for four hundred years. The blood would be pretty thin.”
Februaren said, “There’s another option. According to the ascendant.”
“Gedanke,” Hecht guessed, wondering why he even recalled that name. Was he damned eternally because he had acquired that kind of wicked knowledge?
“Right road.” Februaren was startled. “How did you know?”
“Lucky guess. That and the fact that most of what happened below the walls of al-Khazen had to do with the feud between the Banished and her father, over Gedanke.”
“Most of what happened had to do with the hunger of the Old Ones for the blood of the Godslayer. Arlensul took the opportunity to get revenge. Also, Gedanke was Arlensul’s lover. Not the child they created. The ascendant says Gedanke himself was there for the showdown. As one of the undead heroes. Which gave Arlensul added incentive in the fight.”
No one said anything. Hecht wondered why Februaren chose to discuss this over dinner. In the normal course, it would await withdrawal to the quiet room. He began peering into shadows and watching Turking and Felske closely.
The Ninth Unknown recognized the moment realization struck. He grinned, nodded, said, “The part of Arlensul the ascendant incorporated offered very useful information about her half-mortal bastard. She did her best
