The Children of the Sky

mail and every conversation. She could even see much of what was happening in the orbiter.

Yes, Nevil and Bili and their inner circle were getting desperate. They had stepped up their snooping, and even planted supporters in the groups who were going to demand new elections. But there was no talk of violence, just spin and nasty tricks. Both Oobii’s guide and Pilgrim were recommending that Ravna begin to talk compromise with Nevil’s people, something mellow enough that no one would regard the outcome of the elections as unendurable disgrace.

It all kept Ravna shipside more and more, with her catching little naps and working all the way through till twilight of the next day. Up north, Scrupilo was ready to fabricate his adders! Unfortunately, that meant he needed new results from Oobii.

Ravna juggled that problem all through one night, hoping that the kids’ programs would give the system some slack. She could have used her command privileges to invisibly override the Children’s priority. But that might be noticed … and in any case, it would’ve felt like a betrayal. In the end, she let the Children’s priority stand. Finally, she straggled out of the ship via the private corridors behind the cargo bay, too tired to talk to anyone in the New Meeting Place.

Outside, the brightest of the midday twilight had faded. To Tinish eyes, this might qualify as full night. To human vision, the landscape was gray on gray, lighter sweeps of the recent snowfall piled up around the arching spines of her starship, falling away to the darker grays of steep, naked rock, thence to snows that covered the sea ice far below.

Ravna trudged uphill toward Newcastle town. It was just beginning to snow, per Oobii’s predictions. But this was a soft, windless fall. It would be a big problem by the time it ended, but for now it just brought a nearly inaudible sighing to the air. She lit her handlamp and continued on. Earlier snows had narrowed the way, but there were only a few humans and fewer packs abroad.

She knew that until humans arrived, the winters in the Domain had brought life nearly to a halt. Even in recent years, with indoor light and heat, most businesses slowed in the dark and cold. But up ahead, in the heart of town, the Academy classes would be in session. Almost all the youngest Children, both first and second generation, would be there. They were the least affected by winter depression. The youngest humans had so much energy that if you gave them light and food and warmth, they got along fine. Before the New Meeting Place, the Academy had been the center of social life in winter. There would still be dozens of packs up there, dazzled by the warmth and the energy. She wondered if Nevil realized that the Academy still gave Ravna leverage.

Her lamp light reflected off sheets of snowflakes coming down ever more densely around her. She had reached the outskirts of Newcastle town. Ten years ago, this had been where she first set foot on Tines World. There had been no town here, and the castle was still being built. This ground had been a battlefield. Now it was a medieval city. No, not medieval. The buildings were stone and wood and wattle, but they had pipes climbing their walls, and hot water towers sticking high above the rooftops. No one threw garbage out the windows overlooking this street, and even at the height of summer, there was no sewage floating down the gutters. In building Newcastle town, Scrupilo had used Oobii’s design archives to plan his understreet sewer pipes—and Oobii’s beam gun to keep water flowing year-round. Such tiny changes had created a place that might be safer and friendlier than any other in the world.

… And just now, here on the Queen’s Road, she was close to being lost! She could see only a meter or two, and her stupid handlamp was perhaps worse than useless. The new snow had already covered all but the deeper wheel tracks—and even her own footprints. Looking up, Ravna could see a blurry bluish glow: probably a light in a high window. Huh. In a rainstorm, even a blinding drencher in the middle of the night, she could have walked over to the nearest building and proceeded along with one hand on the wall, recognizing locations as she went. Here, this afternoon, the snow shoveled up from previous storms blocked her from touching anything familiar.

She proceeded, assuming that the main axis of the street was simply where it was easiest to walk. The occasional window lamps were her stars. There ought to be a fountain square every hundred meters or so.

“Sssssss.” The sound was barely louder than the sound of the falling snow, and matched its timbre precisely. Either her ears were playing tricks on her, or a pack was quietly trying to attract her attention. She drifted away from her guess about the road’s center, toward the sound. There was a gap in the snow pile, a notch that would mark an alley or side street. She pointed her lamp onto the space.

The strange hissing stopped. At the center of her lamplight she saw a pack hunkered down in the snow. The creature gave her a little wave. “Screwfloss here.” The voice was a whisper, and she suspected it was focused on her head alone, inaudible anywhere else. “I wonder if we might have a brief chat?”

Ravna stepped forward and took a good look at the pack. Yes, this was Screwfloss; she recognized two of him by the white blazes running from muzzle to crown. “What do you want?” she said.

Screwfloss was backing away from her, angling his heads for her to follow. “Not so loud,” he said. “One of Bili Yngva’s boys is about, um”—his heads bobbed a measuring gesture—“about thirty meters behind you. I’d just as soon he doesn’t know you took a detour.” He was already sweeping snow over her tracks.

Oh! She hadn’t realized anyone was following her; damn, the new Ravna should have assumed that was case. She brought her light down to a dim point, just enough to keep her footing and see the nearest of Screwfloss. The pack led her down the alley and around two turns. It moved all together with itself. Ravna knew that the snow damped mindsounds down to just a couple of meters; the pack would probably lose its mind if it didn’t bunch up. Looking up, she saw no more bluish lights. This must be one of the windowless, single- pack-wide streets. They were ubiquitous down on Hidden Island; the new town had some, too.

“Okay,” said Screwfloss. “This should be private enough. The human will just follow the main road. He could get to the castle before he ever figures out he lost you.” The pack gave a crafty chuckle; this critter watched too much human drama. “It’s just a little further, My boss is waiting to talk to you.”

Ask him straight out: “Flenser, right?”

“That’s supposed to be a secret.” He sounded insulted.

A proper caution was finally catching up with her—now that she was deep into the windowless alley. She had decided Oobii’s later surveillance of Flenser was essentially noise—but this was much more of a test of her theories than was sensible. She trudged along after Screwfloss, but now she was watching for turnoffs. The snow was deep-piled and untrodden. In such fluffiness, maybe she could outrun him. Finally Screwfloss hesitated. “The Boss is a few meters on, my lady.” In her dimmed lamp light she had the impression of his heads bowing her graciously forward.

There was no help for it, so: “Thank you, Screwfloss.” She gave his nearest head a patronizing pat and strolled forward.

Shadows and flickering sheets of falling snow. So how could Flenser get to the top of Starship Hill unnoticed? This wasn’t Hidden Island, with its old maze of secret passages.

She brightened her lamp and swept it quickly around her. She saw snow up to shoulder height and windowless, half-timbered walls above that. This was not a cul-de-sac. It was more like a T-intersection—and another pack sat in a clump beside one of the exits. It was a fivesome. One of the members was perched in a wheelbarrow.

Ravna walked up to the pack, and gave a shallow bow. “Flenser-Tyrathect,” she said, using the full name. A feeble attempt to remind you of your better three-fifths.

As usual, the pack sounded sly and coy: “And greetings to you, Ravna Bergsndot. I had hoped for a private conversation, and now the elements have cooperated to make it even more so.”

Ravna tried to sound nonchalant: “You can get the ship’s weather predictions just like everyone else.”

“Um, yes. Still, I didn’t want to postpone this meeting much longer. Will you walk with me?” Snouts gestured toward the path behind him. “This alley intersects the Queen’s Road a bit further on. With any luck, Nevil’s boy spy will never even guess you strayed.”

“Lead on, then.”

Flenser came to his feet, and struggled to turn the wheelbarrow around. Ravna reached out to help. “No, no, I’m quite good at this.” Flenser’s voice might have been frosty; in any case, it lacked some of its slithery quality. Most of the pack was healthy, but navigating the wheelbarrow that held his maimed member—that raised in Ravna’s imagination the vision of an elderly medieval human, hobbling through his last years. Many broodkenners would have advised the discarding of such a weakened member.

Then the pack was underway, a lurching progress, but still as fast as a slowly walking human. Somehow this