Just what we need. . . . Here, have a bundle of kindling.”
Phan accepted the wood, but even though she smiled pleasantly, the colors that fl?owed around her were murky and dark. A fact that served to reactivate the sensitive’s concerns and made Norr suspicious all over again. Having monitored the entire conversation from his position beneath Norr’s cloak, Logos took note of the sensitive’s suspicions regarding Phan and came to the conclusion that it would be a good idea to keep a nonexistent eye on the newcomer. Because if the female truly was something other than what she seemed, then her presence could very easily have something to do with him, a subject AI was always interested in. There was no sunset as such, just a gradual diminution of light, as the threesome carried the fi?rewood back to the silo. The night passed peacefully for the most part, although the angens stirred at one point, as if they were aware of something that the humans weren’t. And when morning came, and Rebo went out to look around, the runner saw what looked like human tracks in the snow. They appeared to originate up on the road and circled the ruins once before returning to the main thoroughfare. A local perhaps? Keeping an eye on the neighborhood? Or something more sinister? There was no way to know.
Thus began a series of long, almost identical days that varied only in terms of how much snow fell, slight variations in the scenery, and brief contacts with other travelers. Once, while checking their back trail from the top of a pass, Rebo saw six dots in the far distance. But the purpose of a road is to carry traffi?c, so there was no reason to be alarmed, or so it seemed to him.
Eventually, after the better part of a week had passed, the travelers came across the fi?rst of what would eventually turn out to be a series of recently used campsites. Not the single fi?re pit that a family or an itinerant tradesman might have huddled next to, but a large area of well-trampled snow, and the remains of no less than three fi?res. All of which suggested a party that consisted of fi?fteen or twenty people. But what kind of people? Nice people? Or bad people?
It was an unsettling development, and one that became even more worrisome later the next day when, having passed through some small villages, the group came upon a much larger campsite. An area large enough to accommodate up to a hundred people, who, if not under a single leader, had been on friendly terms with one another, judging from the remains of a communal kitchen and two sets of latrines.
“So,” Phan said, as she looked down from her mount.
“What do you think?”
Having slid down off his mount, Rebo went over to the remains of the communal kitchen, knelt next to the fi?re pit, and blew into the gray ashes. Embers started to glow red, and a tiny wisp of smoke appeared. “I think we’re closing with a group of people,” Rebo said as he came to his feet.
“One that continues to grow.”
Norr had been silent thus far, and her angen tossed its equine head as the variant opened her eyes. “A man was murdered here,” the sensitive intoned bleakly. Phan was getting tired of the spook’s endless pronouncements and made a face. “What makes you think so?”
“He’s buried there,” Norr replied, and pointed to a mound of snow that was about fi?fteen feet away. Phan was skeptical, and rather than simply take the variant’s word for what had occurred, got down off her mount. Her boots made a squeaking sound as Phan made her way over to the pile of snow, fell to her knees, and scraped at the snow. The assassin felt her left hand make contact with something solid, so she scooped more of the white stuff out of the way and was startled by what she saw. A man had been buried there. That bothered Phan. If Norr could “see” things like that—then what else could the spook perceive?
But the question went unanswered as Norr felt Lysander invade her body, tried to fend the spirit entity off, and failed. The voice that came out of her mouth was deep and hoarse. “You have only to look at the man’s lips,” the technologist intoned, “to see the price paid for heresy.”
Rebo had heard the unnatural voice and seen the same wide-eyed expression on Norr’s face before. He shook his head disgustedly. “It’s Lysander . . . Here we go again.”
Though not familiar with Lysander, Phan had seen Dyson channel Kane and understood the nature of what was taking place. She peered at the dead man’s face.
“What do you see?” Rebo wanted to know, and fumbled for his glasses.
“Somebody sewed his lips together,” Phan replied, as she eyed the puckered fl?esh.
“And that,” Lysander continued, “was the price he paid for speaking on behalf of technology. You must be careful, because the antitechnics would lay waste to entire villages to destroy that which you bear toward its home.”
There it was, confi?rmation that the people Phan had been assigned to escort actually had the device that Shaz lusted after, something the assassin had been forced to accept on faith up until that point. But Phan wasn’t supposed to be aware of Logos, so she forced a frown and came to her feet.
“What is he, she, or it talking about anyway?”
Rebo swore silently. That was just one of the problems associated with working for a dead client. The bastard not only had a big mouth—but a talent for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. “You’ve seen Lonni’s vibro blade— the antitechnics would pitch a fi?t if they caught wind of it.”
It was a partial explanation at best, since it didn’t cover the stuff about bearing something to its “home,” but Phan nodded as if satisfi?ed. Rebo heaved a sigh of relief even as Lysander left Norr’s body, and the sensitive blinked her eyes. She could still see the dead man’s spirit however—
standing beside his vertical grave.
The travelers returned to the road after that, which had been churned into a muddy mess, and disappeared over the top of a low-lying hill. Hours passed as the sun’s dimly seen presence arced across the sky, and the group crossed and recrossed the frozen river that meandered down the center of a U-shaped valley and entered a medium-sized village. It was late afternoon by then, and having been forced to camp out for three nights in a row, the off-worlders were thrilled to see a sturdy inn. It had a thatched roof, thick walls, and stood a full two stories tall. A stable was located next to it. Once the angens had been seen to, and the cart had been secured, the travelers went upstairs to their rooms. Then, having drawn the shortest straw, Rebo was the fi?rst to bathe in a tub of water that cost the group twenty gunnars. The inn’s only bathroom was located on the fi?rst fl?oor, one wall away from the kitchen, in a large wood-paneled room. The copper tub was so large that even Hoggles would be able to use it—and was fi?lled with water heated from below. But, given the fact that all four of the travelers would have to use the same bathwater, common courtesy required that the runner take a sponge bath prior to entering the big tub. The runner stripped down, hung his clothes on some conveniently placed pegs, and made energetic use
