wealthiest merchants in all the eastern provinces. Alas, bad luck and his sib’s lack of imagination had doomed his early ideas. In the end, his sib bought out the business, and Jaqueramaphan moved to the Capital. It was all for the best. By this time Scriber had fleshed himself out to six members; he needed to see more of the world. Besides… there were five thousand books in the library there, the experience of all history and all the world! His own notebooks became a library in themselves. Yet still the packs at the university had no time for him. His outline for a summation of natural history was rejected by all the stationers, though he paid to have small parts of it published. It was clear that success in the world of action was necessary before his ideas could get the attention they deserved, hence his spy mission; Parliament itself would thank him when he returned with the secrets of Flenser’s Hidden Island.
That was almost a year ago. What had happened since—with the flying house and Johanna and Dataset— went beyond his wildest dreams (and Scriber granted that those dreams were already pretty extreme). The library in Dataset contained millions of books. With Johanna to help him polish his ideas, they would sweep Flenserism from the face of the world. They would regain her flying house. Not even the sky would be a limit.
So to have her throw it all back at him… it made him wonder about himself. Maybe she was just mad at him for trying to explain Peregrine. She would like Peregrine if she let herself; he was sure of it. But then again
… maybe his ideas just weren’t that good, at least by comparison with humans’.
That thought left him pretty low. But he finished redrawing the diagrams, and even got some new ideas. Maybe he should get some more silkpaper.
Peregrine stopped by and persuaded him to go into town.
Jaqueramaphan had made up a dozen explanations why he wasn’t participating in the sessions with Johanna anymore. He tried out two or three as he and Peregrine descended Castle Street toward the harbor.
After a minute or two, his friend turned a head back. “It’s okay, Scriber. When you feel like it, we’d like to have you back.”
Scriber had always been a very good judge of attitude; in particular, he could tell when he was being patronized. He must have scowled a little, because Peregrine went on. “I mean it. Even Woodcarver has been asking about you. She likes your ideas.”
Comforting lies or not, Scriber brightened. “Really?” The Woodcarver of today was a sad case, but the Woodcarver of the history books was one of Jaqueramaphan’s great heroes. “No one’s mad at me?”
“Well, Vendacious is a bit peeved. Being responsible for the Two-Legs’ safety makes him very nervous. But you only tried something we’ve all wanted to do.”
“Yeah.” Even if there had been no Dataset, even if Johanna Olsndot had not come from the stars, she would still be the most fascinating creature in the world: a pack-equivalent mind in a single body. You could walk right up to her, you could touch her, without the least confusion. It was frightening at first, but all of them quickly felt the attraction. For packs, closeness had always meant mindlessness—whether for sex or battle. Imagine being able to sit by the fire with a friend and carry on an intelligent conversation! Woodcarver had a theory that the Two-Legs’ civilization might be innately more effective than any Packish one, that collaboration was so easy for humans that they learned and built much faster than packs could. The only problem with that theory was Johanna Olsndot. If Johanna was a normal human, it is was a surprise that the race could cooperate on anything. Sometimes she was friendly—usually in the sessions with Woodcarver. She seemed to realize that Woodcarver was frail and failing. More often she was patronizing, sarcastic, and seemed to think the best they could do for her insulting… And sometimes she was like last night. “How goes it with Dataset?” he asked after a moment.
Peregrine shrugged. “About like before. Both Woodcarver and I can read Samnorsk pretty well now. Johanna has taught us—me via Woodcarver, I should say—how to use most of Dataset’s powers. There’s so much there that will change the world. But for now we have to concentrate on making gunpowder and cannons. It’s that, the actual doing, that’s going slow.”
Scriber nodded knowingly. That had been the central problem in his life too.
“Anyway, if we can do all that by midsummer, maybe we can face Flenser’s army and recapture the flying house before next winter.” Peregrine made a grin that stretched from face to face. “And then, my friend, Johanna can call her people for rescue… and we’ll have all our lives to study the outsiders. I may pilgrimage to worlds around other stars.”
It was an idea they had talked of before. Peregrine had thought of it even before Scriber.
They turned off Castle Street onto Edgerow. Scriber was feeling more enthusiastic about visiting the stationer’s; there must be some way he could help. He looked around with an interest that had been lacking the last few days. Woodcarvers was a fair-sized city, almost as big as Rangathir—maybe twenty thousand packs lived within its walls and in the homes immediately around. This day was a bit colder than the last few, but it wasn’t raining. A cold, clean wind swept the market street, carrying faint smells of mildew and sewage, of spices and fresh-sawn wood. Dark clouds hung low, misting the hills around the harbor. Spring was definitely in the air. Scriber kicked playfully at the slush along the curb.
Peregrine led them to a side street. The place was jammed, strangers getting as close as seven or eight yards. The stalls at the stationer’s were even worse. The felt dividers weren’t that thick, and there seemed to be more interest in literature at Woodcarvers than any place Scriber had ever been. He could hardly hear himself think as he haggled with the stationer. The merchant sat on a raised platform with thick padding; he wasn’t much bothered by the racket. Scriber kept his heads close together, concentrating on the prices and the product. From his past life, he was pretty good at this sort of thing.
Eventually he got his paper, and at a decent price.
“Let’s go back on Packweal,” he said. That was the long way, through the center of the market. When he was in a good mood, Scriber rather liked crowds; he was a great student of people. Woodcarvers was not as cosmopolitan as some cities by the Long Lakes, but there were traders from all over. He saw several packs wearing the bonnets of a tropic collective. At one intersection a redjackets from East Home was chatting cozily with a labormaster.
When packs came this close, and in these numbers, the world seemed to teeter on the edge of a choir. Each person hung near to himself, trying to keep his own thoughts intact. It was hard to walk without stumbling over your own feet. And sometimes the background thought sounds would surge, a moment where several packs would somehow synchronize. Your consciousness wavered and for an instant you were one with many, a superpack that might be a god. Jaqueramaphan shivered. That was the essential attraction of the Tropics. The crowds there were mobs, vast group minds as stupid as they were ecstatic. If the stories were true, some of the southern cities were nonstop orgies.
They had roamed the marketplace almost an hour when it hit him. Scriber shook his heads abruptly. He turned and walked in lockstep off Packweal, and up a side street. Peregrine followed, “Is the crowd too much?” he asked.
“I just had an idea,” said Scriber. That wasn’t unusual in a close crowd, but this was a very interesting idea… He said nothing more for several minutes. The side street climbed steeply, then jinked back and forth across Castle Hill. The upslope side was lined with burghers’ homes. On the harbor side, they were looking out over the steep tile roofs of houses on the next switchback down. These were large homes, elegant with rosemaling. Only a few had shops on the street.
Scriber slowed down and spread out enough that he wasn’t stepping on himself. He saw now that he’d been quite wrong in trying to contribute creative expertise to Johanna. There was simply too much invention in Dataset. But they still needed him, Johanna most of all. The problem was, they didn’t know it yet. Finally he said to Peregrine, “Haven’t you wondered that the Flenserists haven’t attacked the city? You and I embarrassed the Lords of Hidden Island more than ever in their history. We hold the keys to their total defeat.” Johanna and Dataset.
Peregrine hesitated. “Hmm. I assumed their army wasn’t up to it. I should think if they were, they’d have knocked over Woodcarvers long before.”
“Perhaps, but at great cost. Now the cost is worth it.” He gave Peregrine a serious look. “No, I think there’s another reason… They have the flying house, but they have no idea how to use it. They want Johanna back alive— almost as much as they want to kill all of us.”
Peregrine made a bitter sound. “If Steel hadn’t been so eager to massacre everything on two legs, he could have had all sorts of help.”
“True, and the Flenserists must know that. I’ll bet they’ve always had spies among the townspeople here,
