The Children of the Sky

me, making it hard to think.” Amdi darted a member angrily at the singleton. It hunkered down on the railing and hissed back. “Last night her background chatter just made me look like a fool. More of a fool.”

“We’re still here, alive and breathing, Amdi. And we held on to all our important things. You must have done something right.”

“We lost the other wagons. But yes, I got us through the night. I’m not sure I can get us through this day. We are in such deep trouble. These packs are all employed by Tycoon, at least indirectly. The inn at the bottom of this winch drop is owned by Tycoon. That pack is spreading his influence all through the Wild Principates, not conquering anybody, just making money.”

Jefri was silent, so Ravna said the obvious: “But Tycoon is hunting us.”

“Yup. The temporary good news is that Tycoon’s schemes are so spread out that he can’t keep track of them. Heh,” Amdi emitted a Flenserish chuckle. “The Winchmaster knows humans are important, but he doesn’t know we’re fugitives. Same for the Innmaster below. For the moment, they think that helping us will get them Tycoon’s good will and make them some money in the process.”

The platform shuddered, its smooth descent shifting back to jerk-at-a-time mode.

Amdi said something to the crew pack, and at the same time stuck a head over the railing. “Looks like we’re less than a hundred meters up. Our pilot says we’ll be slowing soon.” He fell back from the railing and hissed at Ritl. “I can’t stand it. This monster is feeding me pictures!” Some of him staggered around for a moment, then settled securely on the decking. “… Okay, where was I?”

“Explaining how you persuaded these folks to cooperate.”

“Yes. Once I realized they were Tycoonists and that they were ignorant of us, I thought maybe we could pretend to be almost what we are. I showed them Chitiratifor’s badge of introduction.” Amdi stuck a snout into one of his pockets and pulled out the edge of the jeweled badge. “I told them we were on a special mission from the North, how you were an embassy from the humans, and to be protected.”

“That’s good, Amdi!”

Amdi brightened at the praise. “It might have worked, too. I doubt if there are any of our stolen radios in these parts. It might be tendays before Tycoon hears about us.” He slumped a little lower. “The problem was that everybody was laughing too hard to take my story seriously.” He glared at Ritl. “The animal just kept blabbering around, making everything I said into a stupid joke. The Winchmaster finally congratulated me on my act!”

“Huh?” came Jefri’s voice. “He thinks you’re acting about what?”

Their platform jerked to a full stop. The crew pack—their pilot?—scrambled up a ladder to the roof. She could hear him spread out across the lightweight planking. His shouts were very loud, and seemed to be directed upwards. Faint shouting came back in response. Ravna leaned out, looked up. Their cable disappeared into drizzle and cloud deck. It occurred to her that shouting back and forth was the only feedback system available. This made flying in Scrupilo’s first Eyes Above seem like a happy holiday.

But now they were almost even with the gables of a half-timbered structure, the ground just a few meters below. She saw packs there, peeking out from beneath heavy awnings.

Their pilot spoke an imperative chord.

Amdi translated: “Stay back from the railing!”

The platform edged downward, five centimeters to a jerk. The kherhogs were getting wild-eyed, but Screwfloss’ intimidating hisses kept them knees-down on the platform. There was a prolonged crunching sound from beneath the platform. They fell another couple centimeters, and then Jefri’s side tilted down a couple of centimeters more. Chorded yodeling sounded from beyond the railing, something Ravna recognized as “Well done, well done!” Their pilot came hustling down the ladder, looking all casual and professional. Ravna noticed, however, that he flinched as much as anyone at the extended crashing noise on the roof he’d just left. Falling cable slack? In any case, the crashing stopped; the Winchmaster, somewhere up beyond the clouds, must realize that the job was done.

As the pilot lifted the railing gate, Screwfloss was all over the kherhogs. Out in the rain, a pack was adjusting a ramp next to the tilted edge of the platform. Yeah, just another routine sky-ferry touchdown. It seemed very appropriate that Ritl chose that moment to clamber atop the wagon and start shouting orders at everyone.

Amdi gathered himself together, adjusting his cloaks and leggings. The human little boy voice gave an occasional whimper, but in a few seconds he looked as imposing as he had when first she saw him this morning. As the winch-pilot came back and undid the ties on the livestock—kherhog and human—Amdi strolled over to the gate and waved a gracious snout or two at the packs who were coming out from the inn. “I’ll go ahead. If you come down right after me … well, I’ve got my speech planned, the story I finally had to settle on: See, the Innmaster thinks we’re a travelling entertainment troupe. ‘The Magnificent Amdiranifani, Master of Fragments and Zombies from Lands of Mystery.’ And”—wail—“our first big show is tonight!”

Chapter 28

Jefri and Ravna were housed in a stable again. Otherwise, things were much improved. Amdi had persuaded these people that the humans could not form godlike packs. True, they were amazing creatures, naturally clever singletons. Jefri and Ravna recognized the word for “walking corpses” when they were paraded from the winch carriage. The notion predated the arrival of humans: imagine thought without sound. Apparently, this added enormously to the interest in Amdi’s upcoming show.

The inn’s stable was high-ceilinged, dark, and only moderately smelly. Like the rest of the inn, it stood well away from the deadly jumble of boulders at the base of the cliff.

“After last night, I don’t even mind these,” Jefri said, shaking the kherhog fetters that bound his wrists. Since Amdi and the innsfolk had left, Jef had scouted out the loft and the various wagons parked on the main floor. “And for the moment, I think we’re as safe as we’ve been since before Chitiratifor.”

“Yes.” Ravna munched on the last of the yams—served on wooden platters, the kind the local Tines themselves ate from. “It helps to have a friendly guard.”

“Guard” was how Amdi had identified Screwfloss to their new hosts. The term was at least an overstatement. Remnant Screwfloss was content to sit by the main door and watch the outside through various knotholes. He hadn’t been at all bothered by Jefri’s explorations. And yet, when the locals were around, he was surprisingly guardlike, flicking a whip threateningly at Jefri and Ravna.

Jefri walked back from the kherhog stalls and squatted down just a meter from the remnant pack. “You’re more together, aren’t you?”

The pack’s whip didn’t twitch. After a moment, his heads bobbed and he gobbled a few chords.

“Wow. That sounds as though he understood your Samnorsk!”

“Yes. He didn’t say much more than ‘I’m okay,’ but it matched my question.” Jefri reached out to pat the nearest shoulder. “That happens sometimes, you know. A member with a critical talent gets killed, and the other parts slowly learn to fill in the function. He may never be really smart, but…”

Ravna eyed the pack’s smudged disguise. “But we know he was a mix of very clever parts.”

“Um. Yes.”

•  •  •

Throughout the afternoon, they heard wagons and packs outside. Through the knotholes, they could see two packs just beyond the walls. Were those to keep the curious out, or the zombies in? In any case, Jefri and Ravna had time to clean up and speculate on what kind of show a two-legs circus act could put on. Ritl came down from the loft and blabbered and blabbered, despite obvious threats from Screwfloss. Most of her complaints seemed to be about being locked up here, but when the real guards opened the door in mid-afternoon to bring in water, Ravna noticed that the singleton stayed clear of the doorway. Maybe she was saving her serious troublemaking for Amdi —or maybe she had a certain animal caution: In some Tinish cultures, loose singletons were fair game for murder, rape, or impressment into transient slave packs.

About an hour after the water delivery, Screwfloss abruptly came to his feet. Ritl gave a startled yelp and made a quick retreat toward the loft, but Screwfloss’ attention was on the knot holes in the stable wall. He