“Had to take on bulk to make the gnarlibar,” said Peter, “and it took me a while. Before that, I did find out where the captives are, though. Sylbie’s in a kind of dormitory right against the residence walls, along with some other captives. The krylobos are in a barn alongside that. The Shadowpeople are in the barn, too, in a cage. The krylobos are the only ones chained up, but it’s the kind of chain that runs through a metal loop on a metal cuff, so we’ll only need to cut one link. That’ll leave them with the cuffs on, of course, but we can deal with that later.”
“Did you get a chance to speak to her?”
“Sylbie? No. I was in the shape of a snakey thing, and I didn’t want to scare her to death. She has no idea I’m a Shifter. When I knew her, I barely knew it myself.”
We stood there, looking at the walls, no one moving, as though we were all equally reluctant to go over. “Queynt and me can take care of the north gate,” said Chance at last. “You do the rest, and we’ll have it open by the time you get back.” We agreed. It seemed the best plan.
Yittleby and Yattleby bounded over the wall. Peter Shifted into a huge, spidery shape with long, taloned feet and lifted the rest of us over. Queynt and Chance sneaked away into the darkness toward the north gate as we crept through the silent streets to the residence. Something about those streets set my teeth on edge, no less in the dark than it had in daylight, a kind of watching terror, as though something hugely ominous were held on a fragile leash which might break at any moment. Do you know that dreadful dream feeling? Walking up by the lair where the dragon is probably asleep. Stepping through the swamp while the Basilisks are probably away. In Fangel I always had the feeling that probably something awful was about to get loose.
When we reached the residence it was dark in most of its windows; only a fugitive glow betokening some servant up late on the business of fires or breakfast. I needed no help to get over this wall. It was mere decoration. Evidently the city of Fangel relied upon its crystals and its curfew. Otherwise, except at the gates, it did not post guards at night.
Otherwise, I amended to myself, it does not seem to post guards at night.
There was one, however, lounging sleepily against a doorpost. Yittleby stepped forward without a sound and brought her beak down on top of his head. He slumped silently onto the stones. Peter leaping to catch his sword before it made a clatter.
Inside was a babble of bird talk.
“Krerk,” said Yattleby to his kin. “Be quiet.” We pushed open the heavy door, hearing the rustle of feathers, the harsh scratching of talons upon the boards of the floor.
“Please tell them who we are,” I asked Yattleby. “And what our needs are in this venture.”
“Krerk, gargle, quiss,” said a voice from the dark. “Why don’t you speak for yourself, girly-person?”
“You might as well,” krerked Yattleby. “They can hear you anyhow.”
“We are releasing some prisoners, yourselves among them,” I said. “You can help us if you will by remaining together and quiet and assuring that we all get out safely.”
“Whirfle krerk. Will you release the little people?”
“The Shadowpeople? Yes. Of course.” I had already heard a line of plaintive melody which located the cage of the Shadowpeople for me. The latch was tied down outside the reach of the captives, but Yattleby reached over my shoulder to make short work of it.
The tiny forms went past us in a scurrying cloud, calling songfully as they fled into the night. “Lolly duro balta lus lom. Walk well upon the lovely land.”
Peter was busy with the chain. “Krerk quiss?” the birds demanded urgently.
“I’m sorry?” I turned to Yattleby. “I didn’t understand that.”
“Whistle whistle krerk quiss. Rrrr.” What was this they were telling me? I turned to Peter in astonishment. “Did the Shadowpeople make a song for your mother?”
“They did, yes. When she was very young. It was at the time of the plague in Pfarb Durim.”
I turned back to the birds. “Krerk, Mavin Manyshaped, quiss rrr quiss.” This went on for some time.
“They say,” I told Peter, “that there are two human people among the captives who came looking for Mavin Manyshaped. The Shadowpeople heard them say her name. We saw the people in procession. Carrying a huge basket.”
“Friends?” asked Peter doubtfully.
“Someone Mavin knows. Or someone who knows her. I don’t think we dare leave them, just on the off chance—”
“All right, all right. Will the krylobos help us?”
“Yes. They’ll help us. Out of curiosity, if nothing else.”
“Quiss rrr,” said Yittleby. “Out of wonder at a person who can talk their language.”
Peter was halfway through the heavy link, watched with intense interest by fourteen pairs of krylobos eyes, fourteen great beaks hung above his head like a threatening crown. He cut through with a muffled exclamation, and the krylobos began to pull the chain through the links of their leg irons, freeing themselves in moments. They stalked out into the paved court.
“Next door,” Peter whispered. Here there were no guards at all, but the door was securely locked. Peter remedied this with one tentacular finger. We pulled it open, the birds standing about outside like so many great sentinels.
“Sylbie?” Quiet into the darkness.
“Who is it?” Plaintive.
“Peter,” he said. “Ah—Nobody. Do you remember Nobody from Betand? When we broke the curse?”
“Peter?” Wonderingly.
“Are you tied or chained?”
“No. No, I’m coming.” A glad bleat of words.
“Is someone here looking for Mavin Manyshaped?” I called softly into the dark.
“Here.” A woman’s voice, deep and humorous.
“The person with me is Mavin’s son.”
“Ah.” The woman laughed, “Come, Roges. It seems we have once again encountered a doer-good and are being rescued.” They came into the half-light of
