'The favor they do is to remove the unwanted person from our world. It always struck me as insufferably bold to ask them for a gift into the bargain. But some do.'
'But what do the Limbreths give?'
'You guess. It entertains me while I am eating, and it takes longer. I am in no hurry to be back in my pit.'
'Dresh!' Rebeke warned him, taking up the end of the noose.
He sighed. 'The Limbreths give useless things, with good intentions, or so they would have us believe. Example: a draught of their water, supposed to bring sweet dreams and peace and inspiration. It gave an insatiable desire to see the Limbreth in person and be fulfilled in him. It.'
'And what else?'
'My dear Rebeke, you flatter me. Do you suppose I have had any personal dealings with them? That is a bit tawdry, even for me. No, all I can give you is the rumors of them I have gathered. The rumors say that no one ever got anything worth having from a Limbreth. Unless you count getting rid of someone.'
Rebeke pondered. Dresh finished his bread and cheese and nodded toward the basket. 'Is there more?'
'Is there more?' she countered.
'It depends on what you have in the basket.'
'Mushroom and onion pastries.'
'If one must have a worst enemy, it is best to choose a former lover, who will know best how to tempt and torment. Pass them over. The Gate itself. Now there's a tricky thing. The Limbreth creates it,opening a place between the worlds. But it cannot be left open to all passers, for the things of their world and ours cannot be mixed without discretion, which might alert a Gatherer. So the Limbreth puts in the Gate a Keeper, a servant, to prevent unwanted ones from using the Gate, and to keep the Gate from closing before the Limbreth is finished with it.'
'If the Gate is forced?'
'Not likely,' Dresh mumbled around a crumbly mouthful. He was taking his time eating. 'Not likely at all. Even if the Keeper weren't there, you must take into account the differences between the worlds. The light in their world, for instance, is dim and filtered, and the folk of their world are strange and unpredictable; they seem as soft as silk but they can be dangerous. So, to protect both worlds, the Limbreth seals the Gate. It's hard to describe, rather like the membrane on a fish egg. If the Limbreth wills it, it softens to let one through.'
'What if it were ripped, or forced?'
Dresh drained the last of his wine. 'Impossible. While fighting off the Keeper?'
'It's happened.' As soon as Rebeke had revealed it, she regretted it. It had slipped from her as they sat talking as if they were old friends, instead of prisoner and Windmistress. To confide in Dresh gave her some small vulnerability to him; and he seized that bit of power remorselessly.
'Then I think you have a problem. A pity you have no friend to help you with it.'
'Yes. Tell me what happens when a Gate is ripped.'
'It's never happened before. Let me see. There would be a flow, from one world to the other, and who knows what nastiness might pass through. But that is minor. The important thing is that the Gatherers would know of the Gate instantly, and would know that someone had been tinkering where someone had no business.'
'What would they do?'
'Who knows? The ones who make the rules don't have to reveal the punishments. Maybe nothing. Maybe they aren't really that interested in us. But if they did anything, I would say it would be something nasty. Nastier than we can imagine.'
Rebeke was silent, staring off as she tried to picture them. The Gatherers had created this world and peopled it according to their desires, and given them rules for living together. Dresh looked up from picking the last crumbs of cheese from his plate.
'Who ripped it?' he asked shrewdly.
Rebeke looked at him through narrowed eyes. But what could it hurt? 'Vandien.'
'Vandien?' He was incredulous. Then laughter burst from him, filling the chamber. 'With Ki's help, no doubt! Those two will be the death of us yet!' His voice held the warmth of a doting parent for errant children. Rebeke looked at him in amazement. With a gasp and a sigh, he controlled his laughter and met her eyes. 'Come, you can't be surprised! If you leave sharp tools lying about, someone will get cut. First me, now you. Evens the score a bit, doesn't it?' 'Dresh.' Rebeke cut through his merriment. 'What is it about Ki?'
Dresh smiled at her. 'Don't gull me, Windsinger. We've both used her, haven't we? You know full well, or you wouldn't have put her through a Gate.'
Rebeke stared at him silently. He looked deep into her blue and white eyes, reading her. She let him.
'Oh, ho! So you didn't put her through. This bit of gossip gets juicier all the time. What is it about Ki? I don't think you have anything in that basket that could buy that secret from me.'
'The basket is empty,' Rebeke admitted.
'I've other senses you could indulge,' he suggested lewdly.
'Dresh. Don't push me.'
'I've never cared for scales, but it might be interesting.'
'Don't be snide.'
'I'm not. I have something to sell, and I'll wait for your best offer.'
'Then ask for something I can give you.'
'My freedom.'
'No!'
'Then it appears we cannot bargain.' Dresh shrugged and hugged his knees.
'So it appears.' Rebeke stooped and took up the rope. Almost casually she began to coil it. Dresh's circle shrank.
'That's not sporting!' he hissed when the rope nearly touched him.
Rebeke stopped. 'It's not a game.'
'At least give me something for my secret. How's this? My secret for yours. Tell me what is going on, completely, and I'll tell you what I know of Ki. '
Rebeke glared at him, but she began a terse recounting of her situation. Dresh grinned at first, but then the smile faded. She could almost see his mind begin to work in its old trails of deception and subterfuge. When she finished he was rubbing his hands slowly and staring down the well and the look he flashed on her scared her.
'Now is my time, though it comes in a way I could never have foreseen. I shall bring the High Council down. Oh, it will be your doing; the dress will fit you well, Rebeke, but I shall cut the pattern. They stole you from me and I vowed they would pay. But I never thought you would be my weapon.'
'You are stepping beyond your bounds, wizard,' she warned him in a flat voice. 'Of course I am. And so are you, with your wizard in a well and your Relic to blackmail the High Council with. Fun, isn't it? Now listen to me; I shall have to be brief. Once, long ago, wearing a face you wouldn't know, I spent an evening in a Romni camp. There I heard many Romni songs, but one was very different. It told of a woman who had died in the act of stealing her little girl back from the Windsingers. I asked about the song and a strange thing happened: a whole caravan of Romni had nothing to say. No protestations that the song was true; no knowledge of who first sang it. Intriguing. And, in spite of their silence, the song told me much. The woman's name was Wisteria. The Windsingers' killing tool had been a Harpy. And the baby had survived.'
'Preposterous!'
'The best strokes of luck always are. So it was possible that somewhere there existed a child that had been Windsingered but then regained by its parents.'
'How long did we have the child?' Anxiety stained Rebeke's voice and lined her face.
'The song didn't say. Listen, and stop asking questions. I pursued a lot of avenues. I spoke to Harpies; I spoke to old Romni who knew the genealogy of the tribes. I followed old scents, and lost them a hundred times. I managed to narrow it to a handful of young Romni women, but the Romni became more jealous of the secret the more I pursued it. Soon I came to realize what they feared; that the Windsingers had not forgotten the child. The Romni are nothing if not thorough and I soon came to believe that the secret was so well kept that not even the girl involved could betray it, for she didn't know either. I was reduced to keeping tabs on the young women; not an
