A door in John’s chest seemed to crack, and a peculiar light came in. He chuckled again. There was a darting quality to this man, a venomous puppy-snap that was appealing for all its sharpness. John supposed the prisoner was very clever indeed and yet disgusted by his own cleverness, an attribute John himself rather enjoyed, since he felt his own nature to be similar. “My friend, it’s your mouth that’s gotten you condemned, not your fool beliefs. But you do at least acknowledge there were once shuttles, correct? For godsakes, we have abundant proof. It’s not as though we’ve based our Laws on nothing. You can see the launch sites yourself, man. We have people who can trace their ancestors to that time.”
“Thousand-year-old structures you’ve rebuilt to suit your tastes don’t mean a damn thing to me. Your asinine executions and dumping of poisoned blood have destroyed the better part of this land. And this land is vast, Mr. Astronomer. I can’t begin to tell you the damage your priests have done. We’ll all die of Bent Head thanks to them.” The cart trundled over a bump and Tygo slid ungracefully into the side of the carriage, but righted himself and continued with a rueful smile. “It’s a farce played out with an immensity that staggers the mind. If I hadn’t given my life to opposing your idiotic Laws, I would’ve killed myself decades ago.”
John nodded. “Is it true that you can heal people?”
Tygo’s smile faltered. “My mother is a famous Walking Doctor. Or was. Maybe she’s dead now. I wouldn’t know.”
John raised his eyebrows. “She taught you your Surgery?”
Tygo did not answer for a long time. Outside their carriage, the slender black scrim-lip of the marsh lapped at grass mere feet from the cart path, and the mules’ hooves sucked up the grasses, and further beyond them a bedraggled pine tree stuck above lowland bushes. John peered at Tygo, who blinked slowly and tugged the hair down over his ear-holes. It was a habit, John noticed. “I came here to find my fortune,” Tygo said with a straight face. “I’m a con-man. I thought I already told you.” He grinned finally. “And. My mother hates me. She never taught me anything.”
John nodded. “I have always enjoyed liars. I’m not sure why.”
“They’re much more fun.”
“So you’re not a Surgeon?”
“I go around as one. It makes good money. Finally they picked me up for it. Now I’m kicking myself, eh?”
John realized he was spellbound before this man, lost, almost in the way of a child whose father has journeyed to many unimaginable places. “Why do I disbelieve you?”
Tygo smiled wider. “Maybe you have trouble trusting people.” He looked away. “I just like to travel. That’s all. This was all a big mistake. Now I could lose my head.”
John discovered that he was smiling too. “Except your prophecy. That is real.”
“Well. Yes.”
They rode the rest of the way to the palace in startled silence, the bloat of friendliness suddenly distending the air between them like a rude noise. This strange comfort struck the astronomer as ill-advised, for what good could friendship do him now, when it had never done him any good before? And as he thought this, his eyes were searching the countryside at the same moment, looking for outlaw riders or carnival men or legions of Law breakers. But no one came, and no one followed them.
CHAPTER 9
MARVEL AND THE ASTRONOMER
Following his interview with the Pardoness, Marvel Whiteside Parsons marched to his own chamber at the top of Endeavour Tower, where his window shades remained drawn, even though a wintry dusk was rapidly descending. He must have a moment to think. The cool gloom entered him like a trickle of water down his throat. He breathed a few times.
As soon as he’d stepped from beneath the shadow of Canaveral Tower, a servant brought him a note bearing the startling news that an outlaw carnival had set up on the plain, just between the palace compound and the shore. King Michael was unconcerned, the note promised. Marvel knew that meant nothing. Michael was always unconcerned—by worldly matters, at any rate. He was the sort of king who would fine the carnival rather than make an example of them for returning to the Cape out of season.
Marvel, for his part, could not help but suspect their arrival had everything to do with the light in the sky.
Why else would a carnival come back during the winter season? It was one of the oldest parts of their Law that the land should rest after summer carnivals, so the blood would have time to work its magic in the earth. It had been written by Huldah herself.
Was Juniper a spy for this outlaw carnival? Had he lied about coming from Kansas? And William Tygo, the earless prisoner from Kansas, why was he really here? No one just came from Kansas to be a Walking Doctor at the Cape. The deathscapes—even with a Walking Doctor’s maps, one wouldn’t risk such a journey without a reason.
At his desk, an enormous solid wood heirloom from the king’s family, Marvel rifled unread papers absently. There was much to be done. Purpose had been his comfort, always. Even now his instinct was to do something more, to create some motion that would satisfy him.
But instead he attempted to wait. And think.
The smart choice would be to leave immediately. It was what he would tell himself to do, if he were his own advisor. There were too many coincidences, too many novel happenings. It must mean something. Leave, he said to himself, just pack your bag and leave now. He’d thought he could use Juniper as a guide in the deathscapes but there was no time now to ascertain the exact nature of his treachery.
Unless
