“What’s in it?” I asked. “Treasure?”
“In a manner of speaking,” said the woman. “At least, it is something we should not leave behind.” She took a deep breath. “My name is Beedie. Whoever you are, I thank you. Now, how do we get out of here?”
The Shadowpeople had already fled. However, with five people, six counting the baby, and fourteen birds we were still a mob. Burdened by the basket, the two strangers could not be expected to move very fast. The dilemma was solved almost before I thought of it. Yittleby and Yattleby stepped to the basket, each bending to take one handle, then moved into the night in their usual unvarying stride. The other krylobos spread at either side like skirmishers, and we went over the wall into the silent street.
I reached out to take the baby. “Let me have him,” I said. “You fix your shoe, or you’ll trip before we’re halfway there.” The child snuggled into my arms, reaching to pat my face. Tears burned in my throat. I had had dreams, betimes, of carrying Peter’s child. Needless to say, I had not dreamed it like this. Peter went ahead, half carrying Sylbie by one arm.
The streets echoed, footfalls magnified into approaching hordes that dissolved at each intersection into silence. Despite this, every building seemed to watch, to be intent upon us. The jeweled insignia of the Dream Merchants peered down from every wall. I squeezed eyes half-shut, concentrating. Something in those buildings was watching, not yet moved to intervention—but soon. I could not make an effective protection for us unless I knew what to protect against, but nothing betrayed itself. No creature could be seen. We were almost at the north gate when the alarm bell rang, breaking the silence with a hideous insistence.
“Run,” cried Peter, setting his own command in action, swooping Sylbie into his arms and lengthening his legs all in one movement. I felt myself seized from behind by my belt: I squeezed the baby tightly with one arm and grabbed the bird’s neck with the other as one of the freed krylobos deposited me on its back and began to run. I gritted my teeth, thrust my legs in front of the stubby wings, gripped the baby as in a flitchhawk’s talons, and prayed we would not slide off. Beside me, Beedie and Roges had been unceremoniously mounted in the same fashion. We dashed down the street, the gate appearing impenetrably shut. Just as we came close we saw one of the mighty halves standing sufficiently ajar to let us through.
“Krerk quiss rrrr, quiss!” I screamed. “Someone pick up those two men!” Then we were racing away up the long road toward the jungle as a flight of arrows struck the gate at our back. Something had wakened at last. Another flight whistled through the opening, shrilling above our heads to rattle upon the stone. I could hear Chance cursing and knew he had been wounded. I didn’t hear Queynt’s voice at all.
We came to the wagon. “I think we may expect pursuit,” said Peter breathlessly. “You, Jinian, take Sylbie and the baby and these people in the wagon. Take Queynt, too. He’s been knocked silly. Chance, get the horse and go with them. If Yittleby and Yattleby will pull and one or two of their friends will go along as guard, perhaps the others will stay and help me?” I croaked this request in bird talk, voice breaking.
The stalwart man and woman seemed accustomed to this speed of activity; at least, they were holding up the harnesses for the krylobos as though they had done it a thousand times. There was much krerking among the freed krylobos, then the matter sorted itself out. The wagon was moving speedily down the western road, past the fork that would have taken us to Boughbound Forest. Chance rode before us, dabbing at his shoulder with an already blood-drenched rag. Just behind us were two additional krylobos, one of them a giant of his kind, larger even than Yattleby, and behind us on the road something huge and furry was beginning to form itself.
“What’s happening?” begged Sylbie in a small voice, looking back. “What’s he doing?”
“He’s a Shifter,” I said flatly. “He’s Shifting himself into something very huge and horrible to turn back any pursuit that comes after us.”
“A Shifter?” The offended tone made me quite angry.
“A Shifter, yes. And you’d better pray, little girl, that he Shifts monstrously, or you may be back in the Duke’s clutches by morning.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Sylbie whispered. “I was just so surprised. I wouldn’t ever say anything bad about Peter.”
“Never mind. There’ll be time to sort it out tomorrow, if we’re still able to sort anything out. You go back there and sit down. All of you. Keep quiet. Keep out of my way. Right now, I’ve got to concentrate on driving.” Liar. Liar. No one needed to drive Yittleby and Yattleby, who would find any road needful, any hiding place needful by themselves. Liar.
I didn’t care. At the moment all I wanted to do was forget that Peter or Sylbie or Sylbie’s child had ever existed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The first of the sendings came on us just before dawn. I was nodding on the wagon seat next to Chance.
He had tied the horse to the wagon and taken time to bandage himself with much cursing and help from the strangers, Beedie and Roges, friends of Mavin Manyshaped from far over the Western Sea, so they said. They had been useful in bandaging, useful in watching, and had offered to drive if I needed help, which I had refused, preferring to keep busy or at least appear
