surrounded by scraps of broken wood-flesh.
The axe fell from his hand. Rapaldo staggered a few feet toward his throne and collapsed, sobbing.
Chapter 15
Sturm awoke to a tapping on his nose. He cnacked an eyelid and saw Rainspot standing over him, his stubby forefinger poised for another tap.
'What do you want?' he rumbled. The gnome withdrew his finger.
'We're having a secret meeting,' whispered Rainspot. 'I can't find the lady, but we want you to take part.'
Sturm sat up. It was still night and he could hear hushed murmurs from the gnomes down the hall. Kitiara's place was empty, but he wasn't too concerned. Sturm knew that she could take care of herself quite well.
He tightened the lacings on his leggings and went down the hall with Rainspot. The gnomes flinched in unison when they appeared.
'I told you it was them,' said the sharp-eared Cutwood.
'But you didn't say when they were coming,' objected
Bellcrank.
'You should learn to be more exact,' said Roperig. There was general nodding of small pink heads.
Sturm rubbed his forehead. It was too soon after waking to jump into a gnomish conversation. 'What's all this about?' he asked at normal volume.
'Shh!' seven gnomes said at once. Wingover waved for
Sturm to come to their level, so he knelt beside Sighter.
'We're discussing plans to, uh, abscond with some of
King Rapaldo's scrap metal,' said Wingover. 'We'd like to hear your ideas.'
Sturm was surprised at such tactics coming from the gnomes.
'My idea is, don't steal from your host,' he said bluntly.
'Don't misunderstand, Master Brightblade,' said Bell crank quickly. 'We don't want to steal from the king, it's just that we haven't any gold or silver to pay him with.'
'Then we must arrange some other method,' Sturm said.
'After all, we sorely need his help, and it will serve us ill to rob a potential benefactor.'
'Suppose he won't give us any metal,' said Wingover.
'We have no reason to be so suspicious.'
'His Majesty seems rather unstable to me,' Sighter said.
'He's completely off his gears,' said Fitter.
'It's not our place to judge,' said Sturm. 'If the gods saw fit to take Rapaldo's wits, it's because he was so lonely here.
Imagine being on this moon for ten years or more with no one but the tree-folk for company. You should feel pity for
Rapaldo.' Sturm looked over the gnomes' crestfallen faces.
'Why not think of some way to win Rapaldo's gratitude?
Then he would probably give us the metal we need.'
The gnomes looked ashamedly at the ground. After a moment's silence, Wingover said, 'Perhaps we could invent something to cheer His Majesty up.'
Six gnome faces popped up, smiling. 'Excellent, excel lent! What shall it be?' asked Bellcrank.
'A musical instrument,' said Roperig.
'Suppose he doesn't know how to play it?' countered
Sighter.
'We'll make one that plays itself,' said Cutwood.
'We could give him a Personal Heating Apparatus — '
'An automatic bathing device — '
'— an instrument!'
Sturm stood and backed out of the newest wrangle. Let them figure it out, he thought. It'll keep them occupied. He decided to find Kit.
He wandered along the corridor. By night, the way was dim and confusing, and more than once he walked into a dead end. This place is a maze, he decided. He doubled back to what he believed was the main corridor and started again for the outside. There was a series of niches along the right again, but he didn't hear the gnomes. The niches were dusty and empty. It was not the same hall.
At the end, the passage turned left. Sturm swung into the black gap and immediately stumbled over some dry sticks on the floor. He fell hard on his chest and banged his head against something solid that skittered away when he hit it.
The object bounced off the wall and rolled back to Sturm.
He heaved himself up on his hands. A wedge of starlight fell across the open end of the niche. Sturm held up the object that he'd knocked his head on. It was a dry white human skull. The 'sticks' he'd tripped over were bones.
He went back out into the open passage and examined the skull. It was broad and well developed; certainly a man's.
The most disturbing feature was the deep cleft in the bone of the forehead. The man had died by violence — as by an axe stroke.
Sturm carefully replaced the skull in the cul-de-sac. Out of reflex, he checked to see if his sword was hanging in its scabbard. The cold hilt was reassuring to his touch. He was worried. Where was Kitiara?
He bumped into Kitiara as she came skulking down the passage. She had a tousled, slightly wild look that made him think she'd been drinking. But no, ale was hard to come by on Lunitari.
'Kit, are you all right?'
'Yes. I am. I think.'
He put an arm around her waist to support her and steered her to a low stretch of wall, where they sat.
'What happened?' he asked.
'I went walking,' she said. 'Rapaldo's gardens take longer to vanish after dark than the wild plants we saw. There were some big toadstools, with pink spores coming out. They smelled good.'
'They've affected you,' he said, noting the light dusting of pink on her shoulders and hands. 'How do you feel I'
'I feel — strong. Very strong.' She gripped his free hand and squeezed his wrist. Pain raced up Sturm's arm.
'Careful!' he said, wincing. 'You'll break my arm!'
Her grip didn't slacken. Sturm felt the blood pounding in his fingertips. In her present state, it wasn't prudent to strug gle. She might crush his arm without realizing it.
'Kit,' he said as evenly as the pain would allow, 'you're hurting me. Let go.'
Her hand snapped open, and Sturm's arm dropped out like a dead weight. He massaged the bruised arm back to life.
'You must've inhaled those spores,' he said. 'Why don't you go lie down? Do you remember the way?'
'I remember,' she said dreamily. 'I never get lost.' She slipped away like a sleepwalker, making unerring turns and avoiding all the wrong passages. Sturm shook his head.
Such uncontrolled strength was deadly. What was happen ing to her — to all of them?
Then, curious, he decided to see those mushrooms from a safe distance. He went along the path Kitiara had used until he reached the outside wall. The neatly boxed-in garden beds were empty. No trace of the mushrooms remained. He stepped over the low wall and dipped his hand into the ever present scarlet dust. Had she indeed
