“Her manner was odd,” agreed Beedie. “And it’s continued to be.”
“Now, Beed,” said Roges.
“Don’t now Beed me,” she said. “The girl was very pleasant on the way down from Fangel, after we all escaped from the Duke. Very well spoken. Excitable, but reasonable. Now she’s . . . well, she’s different.”
I, too, thought it curious that it had taken Sylbie so long to arrive but did not pursue the matter just then. “Where have you put her?” I asked, wondering why I had not heard the baby.
Himaggery made an embarrassed face. “We put her in the little gatehouse, Peter. Her and the baby. That baby—well, it’s got this habit of changing into a howling something-or-other, which it does whenever it’s peevish or doesn’t get fed on time. It happens less frequently if it’s kept quietly off to itself where Sylbie can devote her full time to it. Not that she’s fond of the isolation, but she does understand the problem. Being under siege from inside as well. Last time, we almost lost the gate guards and the Demesne. I must confess, I didn’t realize Shifter babies manifested Talent quite that early. Or so violently.”
“They don’t,” I said. “This one is exceptional. There was some prenatal interference, you’ll remember.”
“Ah,” he murmured. “Of course. It seems the little creature needs discipline, but none of us here are capable of arranging it. Thank heaven it always changes back to baby shape when it gets hungry enough, or the whole matter would be quite hopeless. I kept thinking Mavin would show up, or that Thandbar would come back from his trip—he went off just before the siege, he, Trandilar, and Dorn, to set a guard over the cavern where the frozen Gamesmen are, and don’t mention it, Peter. I don’t want anyone to know. At any rate, there’s no one here to provide guidance for the baby. Something he much needs.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I promised, privately thinking that it would take Mavin or Thandbar or more likely both to do what needed doing. Nonetheless, I did want to find out what Sylbie had been doing on the road for so long, so I trotted through the pear orchard and one of the smaller vineyards to the gatehouse, taking along some fresh fruit tarts from the kitchen, which I thought she and the baby might enjoy. High over the walls of the Demesne the sky showed blue and gray, a patchwork of shadow and clear air between the meshes of fire. It looked safe, but depressing. We couldn’t stay penned up here forever. I put it out of my mind for the moment and knocked on her door.
She had Bryan in her arms, and he came to me in a moment, babbling on about something or other, getting his face all covered with berry juice as he happily gobbled tarts. She smiled and smiled, exclaiming over the tarts, telling me they’d go so well with tea. While she went to get it, I jiggled the baby on my knee, commenting loudly at how much he’d grown since Fangel. He seemed happy enough, though if the tarts gave him bellyache, I supposed we might be in for a haunting. After a time Sylbie was back, bearing a steaming pot with various accouterments, and we sat comfortably on either side of the fire while Bryan finished his share of tarts on the rug.
The little gatehouse is actually set into the wall of the Demesne, or rather into the bases of two great buttresses of those walls. There is a small gate that opens from the gatehouse—from the room in which I sat—through the wall itself, though it is always kept heavily barred from the inside. I noticed the heavy chains across it and nodded to myself, thinking that she and the baby were secure enough here while still being private. There were parapets upon the buttresses and Sentinels keeping watch not more than two or three manheights above that door.
“However did you get through the siege, Peter?” she wanted to know, peering up at me from under her lashes. Since I didn’t want to talk about the spy just yet, I equivocated and said I’d come in on the lakeside, leaving her with the impression I’d done it in a boat. Though Sylbie knew I was a Shifter, I’d learned she didn’t like to think about it. She did not think of me in any shape but my own.
She wanted to know if I had “seen anyone” on my way south. It seemed an odd question.
“Who do you mean by anyone, Sylbie? There were lots of people about, as a matter of fact. I had supper with a farmer and his wife just a night or two ago.”
“Oh, Peter, that’s not what I mean. Anyone you know? Umm. Your thalan? Or your mother, for example? Have you seen Mavin?”
I chose to answer only the last question, replying honestly enough that I had not.
“Jinian told me Mavin would especially want to see her grandson.” Sylbie sighed. “But she isn’t here. No one seems to know where she is. Do you know, Peter?”
I shook my head, distracted by Bryan’s antics. He had finished with the tarts and was now trying to share my tea. He was very strong for his size, which was fairly large for his age. I wasn’t paying too much attention to Sylbie, wondering rather if there were some progenitor back in my line or Sylbie’s who would account for the baby’s stalwart build. “Was your father large?” I asked, to her surprise.
“Not very, no.”
I mused on this. Himaggery was sizable, of course, though I would not have called him a really big man.
“Do you know where Jinian is, Peter?” It was a sweet little voice uttering harmless words, not words to have drawn my close attention except for the repetition of the question.
I looked at her, scrutinizing her for the first time, to surprise
