All three of them wore large caps, which had the effect of making their heads look larger and their faces smaller. Jep remembered noticing that before. He had been walking out to the temple alone, very early. There was something he had to do for Birribat Shum. And there had been a stranger on the road, a man wearing a cap, a man who had said his name was … was Mugal Pye.
“What did you do to me?” Jep asked. He could remember nothing after the man told him his name. “Why am I here?”
The man named Preu told him. “You’re here for our purposes. If you behave yourself, when our purposes are accomplished, we’ll send you home to Hobbs Land.”
“What purposes?”
“We’re holding you hostage, boy. To bring your grandma home to her people. If she won’t come, you’ll be some damaged, but that’s up to her.”
“I told you, I didn’t have a grandmother. China’s mother is dead.”
“I’m talking about Sam Girat’s mother, boy.”
“But she’s not my grandmother! Why would she do anything for me?” Jep thought with sudden panic that if his welfare depended upon Maire Girat, he was doomed. He scarcely knew the woman, only as one does in settlement, by name and face. Saturday knew her because she taught Saturday music, but Jep knew almost nothing about her!
“Brat,” sneered Epheron. “Ungrateful whelp.”
“Nah, nah,” breathed Mugal Pye. “He’s right, Floom. When we were there, I heard it for myself. It’s only the mother’s line they think of. They don’t say ‘Dad’ and they don’t say ‘Granddad.’ They do say ‘Uncle,’ though. The boy there has three uncles, and no father. And it may be Maire Girat thinks the same way. She’s been there a long time. If so, we’ve gone awry, someway. It was her daughter’s children we should have brought. Sal’s children. We thought to save ourselves some trouble and may not have done that at all.”
“Phaed told me she always felt so soft about the Gharm,” sneered Preu Flandry. “Maybe she’ll feel soft for this one, too. Whether she counts him family or not.”
Jep shivered again, and gagged. Sour bile moved at the back of his throat.
“Better feed him something,” said Mugal Pye, with a sneer. “Before he fades away on us.”
“Better give me something dry to wear,” said Jep, shivering. “Before I catch something and die. I’ll be no good to you dead.”
“Ah, well,” said Preu. “This is boring to be sure. He knows nothing of interest to us, so let the boy have the good of the fire. Send the Gharm to feed him. I’ll be getting back to Cloud. We don’t want anyone thinkin’ I’ve been away too long. Besides, it’s time someone talked to Phaed Girat. Which I’ll do soon. Tomorrow. Or next week. Or after that, sometime.”
He went out, and the others followed. When it was apparent they were not coming back, Jep got up and approached the chairs. One of them was a tall stuffed thing, much torn and stained upon the seat and back, but warm from the firelight. He curled up in it, trying to soak up all the heat there was. When the fire had somewhat restored him, he fetched the blankets from the bed and hung them across the other chair backs to let the hot light dance upon them. By the time a noise alerted him that someone was coming in, a cloud of steam was rising around the hearth.
Those who came were little people. Though Jep had much of his growing still to do, the tiny man came only to Jep’s shoulder, and the little woman only to his chest. The man carried a metal pot with a long-handled spoon protruding from it; the woman carried a bowl, a cup, and a bottle, which glugged solemnly as she set it down. Despite their diminutive size, Jep did not for a moment think of them as children. Something in their faces said they were grown, adult, mature, even dignified. They were very dark and ruddy in color, darker than even the darkest skinned persons of Jep’s acquaintance, the color of stained wood, very deep brown, with red lights in their skin and fur. Their heads were covered with fur the same color as their skin, fur that ran down the backs of their necks onto their shoulders. Their eyes were the same ruddy color as their skin, but their teeth were very white. They wore wrinkled trousers and loose shirts of a coarse, colorless fabric. Their feet were furry and bare.
“Something to eat,” said the woman, placing the bowl upon the table. She removed the cup, poured into it from the bottle, and held out the drink. “Good. Warm.”
“I was about frozen,” admitted Jep. “Who are you people?”
The two exchanged glances, almost of surprise. “We are Gharm,” the man said.
Jep thought about it. “I think I’ve heard about you. There’s some big controversy about you, isn’t there? Maire Girat told Saturday Wilm about you. Saturday said you were enslaved by the people of Voorstod. Is that right?”
They exchanged glances again and moved away from him, almost as though afraid.
“I won’t hurt you,” Jep cried. “I wouldn’t do that. Stay a little while. Tell me where I am …”
They wouldn’t stay. The food and drink was set upon the hearth and they fled.
Jep looked after them, tears gathering. He shook his head impatiently and laid his hand upon the kettle, finding it warm. He lifted the kettle to the table, filled the bowl and began to eat. The taste was not unfamiliar. Meaty. Grainy. What China would have called an eternal stew.
“Our remote ancestors ate such things when they first discovered fire,” she had said to Jep more than once as she threw things together to make their supper. “And first discovered pots, of course. Then they put tough meat and hard grain and harsh herbs together and let them
