did not feel daring enough to ferry over with Shinsan’s couriers.
Hiring a rowboat might work. But with the river in flood no boatman would hazard a night crossing. He would be sighted by day. Someone would ask questions.
He could kil the oarsman on the other side but that would cause excitement, too.
He went back to the swimming option. Suppose he made a float, then crossed on a clear night, steering by the stars?
No. Sharks or no sharks, that was begging for disaster.
Almost despairing, he decided to take the long way. That might take weeks but he was not pressed for time. No one was waiting. He had been dead for a long time.
He headed north.
Eventual y there would be a city. It would boast a bridge.
There would be traffic and confusion. A foreigner would not be unusual. He could hire on with a caravan. And he could enjoy some real food for a change.
His fourth day headed north, working back eastward in search of a ford across a smal tributary, he stumbled onto a coracle hidden in the undergrowth. There was no one around. The coracle was neither booby-trapped nor cursed.
It was just a tool belonging to someone with a penchant for going unnoticed. A gift from God.
...
Nepanthe stepped back from behind Varthlokkur’s right shoulder. “That was cleverly done.”
“I thought so myself.”
“I’m going to go bake sweet cakes for the kids.” The wizard grunted. “You do that.” He wondered how indifferent a mother Mist could be. She had not yet, insofar as he could tel , made the least effort to find her children or to determine their welfare.
It was possible, of course, that she knew they were with their aunt and were, therefore, already as safe as they could be in this dark world.
Chapter Four:
The Empress and two bodyguards left portals in the transfer staging chamber of a tower once owned by the Karkha family of Throyes. The duty section had received a warning only minutes
earlier. Men were stil scurrying around, trying to make the place more presentable. Officer in Charge, Candidate Lein She, was stil fumbling with his laces. He had had no time to don his mask.
Mist’s bodyguards made their disapproval obvious.
Mist had no such sentiments. It was unreasonable to expect the tower and garrison to be dril ground perfect at short notice.
She conversed briefly with a portal attendant while the Candidate pul ed himself together. “No visitors? Not even a random attempt to come through, or to make contact?” She examined the transfer log. Only Lord Ssu-ma Shih-ka’i had visited since the tower became the place where special prisoners were held.
The Karkha no longer existed. Their tower, which rose without outer defenses, could be accessed only by a ladder that had to be lowered from a doorway two stories above the street. It was invulnerable to the normal city threats: riots, jealous rivals, and local politics. It was not designed to withstand military operations.
Lein She had himself together. The Empress said, “Good evening,Candidate. Your logs appear to be in order.”
“Thank you, O Celestial.”
Mist was taken aback. Was he making mock? No one had used that title since her father and his twin, the Princes Thaumaturge, had overcome their father. Celestial had been one of Tuan Hoa’s many titles. “I’m not my grandfather, Candidate. Relax. I’m just here to see the prisoner.”
“Uh… Which one… Great One?”
“You’re holding more than one?”
“Seven. Al politicals.”
“The westerner.”
“This way. I’l have refreshments brought.” She ignored a temptation to be malicious. “Tea and rice cakes. Then show these two to the kitchen. Feed them lots of meat.”
Legionary discipline triumphed al round. No one questioned her decision to see the prisoner alone. But, then, no one thought the Empress might need help.
...
Ragnarson believed he understood the caged tiger’s mood. In the main, it would be rage.
It had been a while since he had been instal ed here, wherever here might be. He had fal en asleep in a place where they had healed his war wounds. He had awakened here with no sense of time having passed. The few keepers he saw were strangers uninterested in chatting.
He was not uncomfortable. His cel was an oval room thirty feet on its long axis, twenty on that with the one flattened side. There were three tiny windows. Each overlooked an unfamiliar city. The windows faced north, south, and east. There was no window in the flat west wal .
Each window boasted thin bars and a vigorous sorcery that kept out al odor and noise. He thought he was about eighty feet above street level in an area that was sealed off.
Only once had he seen anyone down there, and that had been one of the Tervola.
The room was furnished sparsely but not cheaply. He had a bed, large and comfortable. He had a table for eating, chairs, several quality rugs, and another table where he could sit and read or write. That came equipped with several books, a stock of pens, paper, and ink in three colors. His captors al owed him a penknife.
There was a luxury garderobe. The waste went away when staff removed dirty dishes and cutlery. Meals were regular and adequate.
There were pitchers and porcelain bowls at opposite ends of the room, with ladles. There was a metal tub that could be dragged out and, once a week, fil ed with warm water so he could bathe. A specialist servant would deal with fleas and lice. His captors had an aversion to parasites.
There was an area for dressing. He had a choice of apparel. Like dirty dishes, soiled clothing went away, then came back clean.
He could shave if he wanted. The tools were available.
Not a hard life. But he could not leave.
So mostly he paced, like the caged tiger, and he raged.
Hour after hour, day after day, back and forth, paying little heed to his surroundings, fantasizing about what the world would suffer once he escaped.
Little thought went toward actual y accomplishing that. That was work for the rational side of his mind. And the rational side had to operate in the realm of reality.
Rational y, it was obvious that there would be no leaving without outside contrivance.
Rational y, he could do nothing but wait.
The prisoner’s routine was rigid. Food arrived at predictable times, virtual y taunting him: construct an escape plan around this, fool! So when the door in the flat wal opened at an unorthodox hour Ragnarson was so surprised he actual y retreated.
He gawked. He failed to recognize Mist for several seconds. She was radiantly gorgeous. He had not been near any woman for so long that his response was instantaneous and embarrassing.
Then his mind clicked.
Mist, aged in spirit but not in that timelessly beautiful flesh.
He arranged himself so as to conceal his arousal.
