“They will tell uth when they are ready for thomething new. They thay they are not ready for the latht thingth, not yet. And I mutht thit here until they are.” They were interrupted by the close approach of another guest, that woman who had been so curious upon the streets of Fangel. She simpered toward the two men, curtsying and nodding like some doll on springs, face creased like a nut in a hundred sycophantic puckers.
“Sweetning Horb, Your Grace. I’ve been busy among the visitors to Bloome, as I was bid. I thought you might want word of them—though there’s little enough to tell.” The three drifted away from the portieres, leaving Queynt straining his ears. He could hear only fragments. “Say they’re Zinterites ... got their names in case you want them ...”
Queynt watched as they turned away, then drifted out onto the lawn once more, thoughtful, breaking his concentration from time to time only to utter the obligatory “Hail to Valearn.” Meantime, we three had departed through the northern gate, where the guardsman referred to a list, checking us off as we went. They were careful to be sure all visitors who came in also went out. It made me nervous, this great care. What had there been in Fangel we had not seen? “Pleasant journey,” the guard wished us. “Hail to Huldra.”
“Hail to Huldra,” snarled Peter, no happier than were the krylobos.
Poor thing. Wasn’t he caught in a dilemma? It was Sylbie, and he had no doubt of it. It was his baby, and he’d no doubt of that, either. Perhaps he had even known that she was pregnant when he’d left Betand.
Evidently he had taken some steps to provide for her, yet here she was, unprovided for. And here was Jinian. Not saying anything. He watched me from the corner of his eye. I didn’t help him, though it would have been kind to do so. He knew I had not missed any of it and knew well what he was thinking.
“Oh, shit,” said Peter, muttering. “Pombi piss. Hell and damn and may the Hundred Devils dine on my gizzard.” He did not need to have invoked them. Seemingly he was feeling as though they already were.
The road continued upward for a short distance before entering the jungle which had climbed to meet it. Out of sight of the walls of Fangel it began its twisting descent toward Luxuri. Here we left the wagon, unhitching the birds.
“I think reconnaissance,” I said to Peter, keeping things quiet and emotionless. “They took the captives off to the left after they were inside the gates. Also, we will need something to cut chains if we’re to free the birds.”
“That’s my metal saws,” said Chance. “All neat and nice in the tool box, sharp as a file can make ‘em. You goin’ to have a look around?”
“Yes,” said Peter in a surly voice. “Julian. Jinian?”
“You’d best go,” I said. Now wasn’t the time to talk about it. Or perhaps it was, but I wasn’t willing to do so.
He went. Under cover of the jungle he laid the Zinter clothing aside and changed it for a fustigar’s hide. Once at the walls, he would change again. For now, however, he gave his soul some peace by growling hugely, setting up echoes that ran along the distant valley.
“He’s upset some,” said Chance.
“That was his baby with the girl,” I said calmly.
“Well, happen I know a bit about that. It wasn’t any love affair, if that’s what you’re thinkin’. He did it to remove a curse from the city of Betand, and that’s the truth.”
“Unlikely.” In a fatalistic mood, I was not allowing myself to accept logical explanations.
“I don’t care how unlikely, it’s true. Some Necromancer or other had raised up the spirit of someone yet unborn and set it to haunt the city. So, all the travelers had to beget when they went through. Tryin’ to get the unborn born as fast as possible, that’s what they were doin’.”
“He remembered her name.”
“Well, it wasn’t that long ago and likely it was his first time, lassy. That kind of thing sticks with you. Mine’s name was Barbra. Barbra Queet. She ran an alehouse in Sabistown, beside the Southern Sea. She took pity on a lustful young squinch with two left feet and ‘nitiated me. Ever’ now and then I say a prayerlike thank-you for Barbra Queet.”
I did not reply. It was not from lack of sympathy, but from seeing likely what was going to happen. It could hardly fail to happen. Not given Peter, as Peter was, and me as I was, and Sylbie—heretofore unknown but now known all too well. “Never mind, Chance. I’m not blaming him for anything. I’ve got to go settle the birds down.”
“Why don’t you just say ‘talk to ‘em,’“ said Chance, miffed. “We all know you can.”
I know that I flushed. There were no secrets. Silly to imagine there could be.
Dusk was falling when we saddled the birds.
“Slowly,” I counseled both Chance and Yattleby. “We want to arrive outside the northern walls under cover of darkness, not fly over it while it is yet daylight.” We got there shortly after dark, well enough, only to wait about in increasing impatience and worry, waiting for Peter and Queynt. By the time they arrived, it was almost midnight.
“Gamelords, what a mess,” moaned Queynt. “There were a full dozen of us left the southern gates all at once, and nothing would do but that we travel together. Willome had a grip on me like a vice. I tried everything I could think of to break up the group. Finally, Peter had to Shift to gnarlibar shape and stampede the horses. Mine went with them, but I fell off. Luckily. I
