do.’
And thank you too! She gestured ahead. ‘You came this way?’
‘No. Yes. Maybe. Once. Long ago.’
Jheval snorted, shaking his head.
‘And the lake?’
The old man shot her a narrowed glare. ‘Why? The fish?’ He pointed. ‘I knew it! You’re after an even bigger one! Well, you’re too late! It’s gone.’ He laughed hoarsely, cleared his throat, and spat something up.
‘Not the fish!’ Kiska snapped. ‘The Whorl — the Rift — the thing that drained the lake.’
Warran waved dismissively. ‘Oh, that. No fish there.’ He gestured aside. ‘Best to go that way.’
Now Jheval was eyeing the old man. ‘Why?’
‘Shorter. No crabs.’
‘Crabs?’
‘You think that fish was big? Wait till you see the crabs that eat them.’
‘Ah.’ They stopped. Jheval looked at Kiska. She squeezed her hands on her staff. She squinted to the storm on the horizon.
‘Is that it?’
Warran nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘You’ll show us the way round the lake?’
‘Yes — but then we’re through! No more favours! I mean, fair’s fair.’
She let out a long breath. ‘All right. Show us.’
He rubbed his chin, clearly taken aback. ‘Really? Okay. Ah, this way — I think.’
Jheval hung back next to Kiska, opened his mouth. ‘I know!’ she cut in. ‘I know. We’ll see. Time doesn’t seem to matter, does it? We’ll just backtrack if we must.’
He frowned, considering this, then shrugged. ‘Very well.’
After a time they came to a field of tall sand dunes. A miasmic wind hardly stirred them. Tufts of sharp brittle grass grew on their slopes and in the troughs between. Kiska found the going very tiring as her sandalled feet sank into the shifting sands. Occasionally she would peer around for the two dark shapes; eventually she would find two dark dots on a distant rise, or black angular shapes cruising far above. She almost spoke of them to Jheval but decided not to raise the subject in front of their companion.
‘After I caught my prize I was struck by many regrets,’ the odd fellow announced suddenly as they slogged up one slope.
‘That you didn’t have the strength to pull it?’ she offered.
‘Oh, no. I was making progress… slow… but progress. No, my biggest regret was in not thinking ahead.’
‘Oh?’ she said drily.
‘Yes. Because it is one thing to catch what you’ve always sought. After that it is quite another matter. The question really should be: what do you do with it once you’ve caught it?’
Kiska could only frown, uncertain. There seemed almost to be something there. It was almost as if it applied to her — a tangential lesson? Homey aphorism? Or insane babble? The problem was she had no idea how to take anything this crazy old man came out with.
CHAPTER VII
Be not too rigid,
For you will shatter;
Be not too yielding,
For you will be bowed.
Shell thought the strait of water that ran along the south side of the long narrow island of Korel very calm given the constant storm raging just to the north. It had been snowing for the last three days and nights. She couldn’t recall when she last saw the sky. Thick dark clouds hung so low she thought the masts would scour them. It was dark and bitterly cold. Snow flurries gusted over the boats constantly — an improvement, however, on the numbing sleet that had left her wet and chilled to the bone. So cold was she that she found herself wondering about that rendered fat Ena had been offering.
As their small flotilla approached the Korel shore the Sea-Folk brought her and Lazar over to the boat carrying Blues and Fingers. If anything, Fingers was even more miserable than she. His seasickness had left him weak and now he complained of chills, aches, a racking cough, and a constantly running nose. He spent all his time hunched under blankets at the bows, where they sat with him now.
‘Orzu hasn’t said so,’ Blues began, ‘but if they land there’s a good chance the Korelri will just grab the lot of them.’
‘They must’ve known that from the start,’ Fingers objected, and coughed wetly.
‘That’s why we’re paying them,’ Lazar said.
‘Since we’re talking problems anyway,’ Fingers said, sniffing and hawking something up over the side, ‘maybe Shell should ’fess up about ours.’
Blues sat back against the side as the boat rocked in the rolling waves. It was evening and the Korel shore was a jagged dark line dominating the north. Shell watched his gaze move between them. ‘You mean about this “Lady”.’
‘Un-huh. Look, I know the plan was for us to get hold of Bars then the five of us blast through to a Warren to escape. But you must feel her strength. This is way more than we bargained for back in Stratem. There’s a good chance she could slap us down…’ He coughed, holding his chest and grimacing in pain.
Blues was nodding, eyeing the distant shore. ‘So maybe something more… mundane.’
‘In which case’ — Fingers pressed shut one nostril and blew heroically, emptying the other over the side in a blast of stringy wetness — ‘we’ll need a boat. And a crew.’
Lazar raised his dark brows in silent appreciation. Shell inclined her head to the suffering little man. God’s grin, Fingers. You may be as sick as a dog, but you are your usual cunning self.
Blues turned away, gestured amidships, and called: ‘Get Orzu.’ Then he looked Lazar up and down. ‘You look the part more than any of us. How would you like to be the next Champion of the wall?’
The big man considered, frowning, then spat over the side. ‘I hear the pay is the shits.’
Orzu at first refused. What else could the man do? Shell mused. After all, when four armed and dangerous passengers ask you to sell them into slavery it would be prudent to show some reluctance. Only their continual assurances of their seriousness half convinced him. Then Fingers pointed out that in any case they intended to be let off on the Korel shore, and so he, Orzu, and his clan of Sea-Folk might as well profit from it. The old man finally bowed to that logic.
The deal struck was their bounty in return for one boat, with a minimal volunteer crew, to remain behind until the spring’s turn, celebrated here by bonfires lit in the name of the Lady’s Blessing. For the rendezvous, if any, Orzu suggested a maze of isthmuses, saltwater swamps, and narrows south of the city of Elri. Blues agreed.
Then the man said he had to go ahead to make the arrangements. He peered at them all for a time, a hand pressed to the side of his face, shaking his head, then gave a heavy sigh. ‘You are crazy, you foreigners. But fare you well. May the Old Ones guide you.’
‘You too,’ said Shell.
‘Take care of your family,’ Blues said.
The old man pressed his hand atop his head. ‘Aya! They are so many! Such a burden. It is heavy indeed.’
They took shelter in an isolated cove on the uninhabited south shore of Korel. It seemed the Korelri had no interest in what they named Crack, or sometimes Crooked, Strait. All their attention was reserved for the north, and
