Anyone who really knew Amdi would know that he kept his freely given promises. Apparently, Screwfloss was such a person. He gave Amdi a long look, then replied. “Very well, Little Ones.”
In any case, that was the most informative, and frightening, moment of the morning. Screwfloss quit talking. Maybe he was sullen, or thinking—or listening to discover if Amdi would break his promise. They stopped briefly for midday meal, but Amdi was away with Jef and Gannon, and Screwfloss went with Chitiratifor to get a view of the way ahead. Back on the wagons, it was well into the afternoon before Screwfloss got into a talkative mood.
“It’s really too bad that we killed the traitors when we did. We’re entering an especially dangerous area,” he said. “It’s like I told Lord Chitiratifor at lunch. Little mistakes can be fatal here.”
Three of Amdi were sitting at the back of the wagon, but faithfully honoring his promise. Aloud he said, “So has Chitiratifor told the wagoneer packs?”
“Oh yes. Those packs are just city thugs. Till now, this job has been a fun adventure—real hunting, live meat almost every day. But now they need all the help Lord Chitiratifor can give them.” Screwfloss gestured expansively at the forest all around them. “It looks so peaceful, doesn’t it? But why do you think it’s mostly unknown to Tines? Because so few get through it whole—or at all. The Old Flenser studied the rift valleys. So did Steel. They got some of their most diabolical insights here.” Screwfloss turned a couple heads Ravna’s way. “Yes, I know you starfolk can be much deadlier, but we primitive folk, we do the best we can.”
Gannon Jorkenrud had been behind them, between wagons. Maybe he had caught some of the conversation, because now he trotted forward and jumped onto Screwfloss’ wagon, kicking Amdi’s members overboard in the process. “You assholes have no business riding,” he said. He settled down beside Ravna and gave her a big smile. “For that matter, we’re being generous to let
Amdi followed along the left side of the wagon, objecting: “Ravna’s not well enough to walk along. Chitiratifor wants her kept on the wagon.”
“Like I said, we’re generous.” He gestured Amdi away. “Why don’t you go back to your great protector?”
On the wagon behind them, Jefri had risen from his driver’s bench. Ravna knew that Jefri had some special recent hatred for Gannon; right now, Jef’s expression was deadly. Then his wagon began to drift, and he sat down and guided his kherhog back into line.
Fortunately Jorkenrud wasn’t really trying to start a fight. He was more interested in chatting with Screwfloss. “You’re spilling Chitiratifor’s secrets, eh Screwfloss?”
The pack shrugged. “It won’t do her any good.”
“So you’ve told her about the radio link to the orbiter?”
“No, but you’ve done that now.”
“… Oh.” Gannon thought about that for a second and then laughed. “Like you said, it doesn’t matter what she knows now. I bet it’s fun to see her reaction.” He gave Ravna a big grin. “The radio is just one of lots of toys Nevil has given our little friends. Giving you to the dogs is a similar gesture, and it removes a real inconvenience. It was a win all around. Nevil knew that word of the snatch on you would bring Woodcarver’s troops racing down from the castle. That would give us a chance to disappear various gear we’ve been wanting.”
Ravna couldn’t help baring her teeth at this. “So now Nevil is unmasked.”
“Not at all! I don’t know the details, how they got rid of Woodcarver’s guards, but the rumor is going to be that you weren’t kidnapped. You defected because you’d been kicked out of your cushy place on the Starship—and it was your agents who stole the equipment, maybe to set up your own operation. When I’m officially rescued, I’ll confirm whatever story Nevil decides on.” Gannon looked at the wagon behind them. “Jef will too, if he knows what’s good for him.”
“That—” Ravna started to say, and was temporarily out of words. “That can’t possibly convince anyone.”
“Oh? We did something almost as complicated when we snatched the Children.”
“Those stupid Tropicals played into our claws on that one,” said Screwfloss. He didn’t sound critical, more like he was stating a small correction.
Gannon started laughing. “True. But Nevil says that’s the reward for good planning. He tricked them into running like the guilty. Who’d have guessed Godsgift would leave part of himself behind? He thought he could get a hearing from Woodcarver and damn us all. Fortunately, we got to him first.”
Ravna looked at Gannon and felt sick. “And you grabbed those Children and killed their Best Friends?”
Some remnant of decency tugged at Gannon’s face. “Not me personally.… Bad things happen, little lady. You should never have been put in charge. Now fixing things is a mess.”
Amdi’s voice came up from beside the wagon. “We didn’t know, Ravna.”
Gannon gave a wave in Amdi’s direction. “The fatso pack is probably telling the truth. He and Jefri have been very useful, but not for the rough things. I know they weren’t supposed to be in on this current operation.”
Ravna closed her eyes for a moment and leaned back against the top of the wagon. It wasn’t hard to see why Jefri hated this boy so much, but, “Why, Gannon?”
Gannon looked back at her. It was clear he understood what she was really asking. For a moment she thought he would make some sadistic retort, but then something seemed to crumple inside him and desolation stared out at her. “Once upon a time, I was smart. Back in Straumli Realm, back in the High Lab. It was easy to understand what was going on. Then I woke up here, where I understand nothing and all my mind tools are gone. It’s like somebody cut my hands off, poked out my eyes.”
“All the Children have that problem, Gannon.”
“Yes, some more and some less, even the ones who don’t realize it. And you know what, little lady? Countermeasure took our home from us, exiled us here. You want to make that permanent. Well, it won’t work. You’re going down. If you cooperate, help our little Tinish friends, maybe Chitiratifor’s boss will let you live.”
Gannon stared at her for a moment, his face full of pain, for once free of sadism. Then his gaze flicked away, and after a moment he relaxed into his usual lazy bluster. He waved at the forest all around them and said to Screwfloss, “So what makes you think these woods are dangerous? I’ve been on expeditions before. I can spot weasel nests and weasel-made rockfalls. Chitiratifor has a pack scouting around us all the time. We’ve spotted one or two cotters’ cabins, but no organized settlements. So what’s coming down on us?”
“There’s the bloodsucking gnats. They make arctic midges look like friendly puppies. We’ll see them as soon as the weather gets a little warmer.”
“Gnats? I’ve heard of those.” Gannon’s voice was full of jolly contempt. Then an uncomfortable look came to his face. “Or do you mean these ones carry some kind of disease?”
Out of Gannon’s line of sight, Ravna noticed Screwfloss exchanging looks with himself, as if wondering how big a whopper he could put over on the idiot human. Then he appeared to pass up the opportunity: “Oh, no. Well, not that I know of, and you humans are mostly immune to our diseases anyway—at least that’s what
“Er, right.”
“Anyway, the really bad diseases are in the Tropics,” continued Screwfloss. “The biting insects we’ll see are just extremely annoying. What makes this here variety of forest dangerous is the—I guess the simplest translation is ‘killer trees.’ Or maybe ‘arrow trees.’”
“Oh, I’ve heard of those,” said Ravna. Amdi made an agreeing sound. Killer trees had been part of some of Pilgrim’s stories.
Gannon made a rude noise. “Bullshit. Where are you getting the know-it-all?”
Screwfloss gave him a haughty look. “I was woods-runner before I entered Flenser’s employ. I’m a renowned expert on the rift valleys.”
Ravna remembered Woodcarver describing this pack as one of Flenser’s whack jobs. Whatever else, Screwfloss was an expert at telling tall tales.
Gannon had a narrower skepticism: “This patch of forest looks like bannerwood. It’s rare stuff, but I’ve seen it before. I hear it makes great building timber. Or are you saying these arrow killers are something rare, hiding, ha ha, like in ambush?”
“You have my point, sir—but not quite the way you may think. Bannerwood doesn’t like to be cut or chewed on—oh sorry, my lady Ravna, I don’t mean to be an ignorant medieval. I know that trees can’t think. I just don’t have the patience to dance with jargon. I leave that to Flenser and Scrupilo. In any case, only a certain percentage of this type of bannerwood has deadly capabilities.”
