It was hotter than any human could have withstood. As it was, there was a good deal of discomfort when I snaked through the grill and plunged madly upward into the familiar tunnel, seizing its rough rock roof with spider claws to pull myself out of the hot water and hang panting from that slimy vault, gasping, putting out feathery gills to shed heat, waving them madly. I suppose it was a fairly noisy process.
“Who goes there?” came the bellow, then the lantern light peering down the tunnel at me like some huge eye. “Who goes there?”
For a moment it was so surprising, I couldn’t remember how to Shift vocal organs, and it was only in the nick of time I managed to gargle, “Himaggery’s son, Peter,” before someone decided to launch a flaming spear at me.
Mumble, mumble. “Didn’t look like a person at all.”
Mumble, mumble. “Heard he was a Shifter!”
“Shifter? That’s right. Child to that Mavin.”
Mumble, mumble. “Best thing would be to kill’m.”
Mumble, mumble. “Not if he’s who he says. Come out slowly.”
“I’m not in man-shape,” I called.
Mumble, mumble, in which “Get rid of’m,” and “Come out slowly” were equally voiced.
So I came out, pincer foot by pincer foot, then Shifted very slowly while they watched. They made faces. I don’t know why other Gamesmen always make faces, but most of them don’t like Shifters, and that’s all there is to it. So far as I can tell—and I’ve watched in a mirror—there’s nothing particularly repulsive about it. Oh, an occasional inside-outness, perhaps, but guts are guts, after all. We all have them.
I stood there, decently dressed though dripping. “If one of you will be kind enough to inform Himaggery I am here, he can identify me,” I said. All the guardsmen were strangers, and they looked nervous. Being under siege had done nothing to improve their equanimity. “Or, if Barish is available, he can identify me.” Some of their faces smoothed somewhat. Uh-oh, I said to myself. There’s factionalism here. It occurred to me an excellent time to try the Eesty way of message transmission. I stepped forward and laid my bare hand on the hand of one of the guardsmen. “I would appreciate your bringing word to either one of them,” I said, concentrating on my skin, “pushing” the blue crystal message through. It had worked when I was an Eesty.
It worked here, also. The man’s face was slightly hostile when I approached him and touched him. Then less so. Then conciliatory. “Brog,” he said to one of his fellows. “Go tell the boy’s father he’s here.”
Ah. So it did work. I offered my hand to another of the guardsmen, and then the others, one by one. “Cooperation,” that was the message. All of them got it but one. Him, I had no initial success with, a blank-faced, squint-eyed fellow who nodded at me but would not take my hand. “My name is Peter,” I said to him, smiling. “And yours is?” This was the one who had wanted to kill me. I was sure of it.
He would not answer me. An officer told him sharply to mend his manners. “This’s Shaggan, sir. Joined us just recently. Came down from the north. About the time the Lady Sylbie came.”
I smiled at Shaggan once more. “A difficult time to come to the Bright Demesne. Was it a pleasant journey?”
He looked around him, shifty-eyed, trapped into talking though he obviously didn’t want to. I reached out and brushed at his face. “Spiderweb,” I said, pushing the blue crystal message for all I was worth. “It badly needs cleaning down here.”
He stepped back, mouth open, confused looking. He had received the message I was carrying. But then, I had received a jolt of what he was carrying as well. I covered up as well as I could. “He’s been spider bit. Look at his face, pale as ice.” Which was better than saying, “He’s a spy sent here by the Witch, Huldra.” The picture had come through my skin, clear as though an artist had drawn it. The man had been dosed with a crystal and was no more aware of what he was doing than the citizens of Fangel had known what they were doing, day by day. I wondered how many more spies the Witch had sent, and then I remembered what the officer had said. This fellow had come down from the north. Where he had been recruited, undoubtedly. And he had come at about the same time as “the Lady Sylbie”? Interesting. How had Sylbie come to arrive near the same time as a man like this?
I murmured something soothing and told them to take the man to the Healer. He was struggling in the grip of half a dozen of them at the same time he was trying to remember why he was here. I left him to it. If the blue crystal I’d pushed at him didn’t make him forget why he’d come, Himaggery’s Demons might find out something interesting by Reading it out of his head.
We went out into the cellars; Himaggery came and embraced me. As soon as we were private, I told him about the spy, and he shook his head angrily. He knew as well as I that if there were one, there might be more, and it would be no easy job to find them. There were thousands of men within the Demesne, many of them recently recruited, and though I could go about touching them all, it could not be done quickly. He would have to set his Demons to Reading the men, and that couldn’t be done quickly, either.
I told him once more about message crystals and for the first time about the shadow and the Shadowbell and my having to leave Jinian behind. I did not mention the fact that Mertyn, Quench, and Riddle were busy raising the
