Precious Wind nodded slowly. “A signal could have been sent directing some organism, or some tiny mechanism, to adjust whatever it was. If the adjustment didn’t happen, the organism might fail, eventually.”
Xulai’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “So Mirami’s brood were not human!”
“In talking about Mirami, we always thought in terms of human genetics,” Precious Wind confessed. “Even though we knew the Old Dark Man was not entirely flesh, I don’t think any of us thought Mirami could be partly . . . mechanical. That’s not the right word. Something more refined than mere mechanics, but still . . . not flesh.”
“If both Hulix and Rancitor die, it solves two minor problems,” said Abasio. “Lok-i-xan will be delighted.”
“Poor King Gahls,” Xulai murmured. “Not an heir to his name.”
“He’s still not too old to get one,” said Hallad, Prince Orez. “Now that no one is poisoning every attempt. He may not know just how far Mirami had gone. If Hulix dies, Kamfels can be garrisoned by my men. Perhaps, once everything . . . settles down, I’ll make a visit to the court. He might be grateful, even conciliatory.”
Justinian asked, “What about our defenses here? I left you little enough to work with, my friend. I’m afraid the years took their toll on Wold’s readiness and mine.”
“You are looking very fit and you have some good men,” the prince said. “Perhaps both you and they needed only to be reminded of that fact. We’ve brought your Men of the Mountain into Woldsgard and sent some of the old hands north to the pinnacle; we have scouts watching your borders. And I’m not leaving here, my men aren’t leaving here, until everything is settled for the foreseeable future. I understand that the future beyond that is to be strange and wonderful in ways we have never dreamed of, but we’ll have years to talk of that later . . .” He marked this in his memory, to remind Justinian of it in happier times. Or to forget it, if there were none. “As to our defenses here: we are no longer threatened by prior or queen. Only the creature threatens us and we assume it has no allies. It came here long enough to kill some of our people, but it will come alone if it comes at all. There have been no recent sightings close by.
“Lately, it stays mostly in that area where the Old Dark House was and up the eastern slope from there. We’ve taken the advice received from Tingawa. If it attacks, the archers will shoot only flame arrows. We are told that pistols will probably not hurt it, but fire may. We have catapults that can throw bigger lumps of fiery stuff that sticks to what it hits. We also received a visit from a Tingawan armorer who came here after he and his fellows had destroyed the Old Dark House. He gave us some small cannons and showed us how to use them to fire the same kind of stuff. We’ve always stayed away from guns, big ones at any rate. Using them brings us very close to the ban on machines. However, they are easier to aim than catapults and since he left the things with us and taught us how to use them, we’ll use them if we have to. I hope we won’t need them, for your plan is to meet it some distance away.”
“That is the plan, as I understand it,” said Justinian without expression.
“Not that we’ve been told much,” said Abasio.
“A secret is best kept between two people when one of them is dead,” said Hallad, staring at Precious Wind. “Such has always been my understanding.”
“And mine,” said Precious Wind.
Abasio felt something was very wrong with the plan. This monster was not supposed to be able to think about maintenance. And yet it could think about creating subordinate creatures that would receive signals from the maintainer? It could modify the device to do that?
It seemed unlikely. Except . . . those things were related to killing. And it could think about killing . . .
Later, in Xulai’s old room high in the castle gard, Oldwife grieved over Bartelmy and Black Mike while Xulai sat empty eyed beside her.
“He were just a lad,” Oldwife said for the tenth time. “Just a boy. A sweet boy. No harm in him. Went out to see his folks, got caught in the woods by that . . . that . . .”
“How do you know it was the . . . the creature, Oldwife?”
“What else kills and rips and tears flesh away and then just leaves a body? Bears don’t do that. The big mountain cats don’t do that,” she cried. “What else but that monster?” She sobbed. “Both on ’em, they wore those nice scarfs you made ’em. Both the boy and Mike. They was so proud of those!”
Xulai went to find Abasio. “Find Pecky Peavine and Willum and Clive Farrier. I knitted them each a scarf before I was taken from the abbey, remember. Bartelmy and Mike were wearing them when they were killed. They may have been smelled out, Abasio. Tell them to wear nothing they might have worn when they were with me, or Precious Wind, or Bear.”
Abasio collected Precious Wind and together they found the three living men. The scarves were burned and Xulai’s warning was passed on. Meantime Xulai lay curled on her bed, shivering uncontrollably. If it had smelled them out because their scarves had her scent upon them, how much easier to smell her out when she was bait in the trap.
That night Precious Wind, Abasio, and Prince Orez met atop the tower. It had been tented over to protect them from rain, the side curtains open to the south and east. Below them, in a room beside the bird lofts, four Tingawan warriors pedaled slowly, evenly, to create power for the small device set on a sturdy table. They were there to discuss the plan.
“This is Alicia’s pattern,” said Precious Wind, holding up a little angular receptacle. “We made this in Tingawa from the hairs
